


Purple Haze

by Ashhlys



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic Asexual Mike Hanlon, Ass Play, Ass to Mouth, BDSM, Barebacking, Bill Denbrough Loves Stanley Uris, Blindfolds, Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bill Denbrough, Bottom Stanley Uris, Bruises, Butt Slapping, Cheating, Choking, Come Swallowing, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Daddy Kink, Denial of Feelings, Dildos, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Dream Sex, Drunk Sex, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Anger Issues, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, Feelings Realization, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gags, Gay Bill Denbrough, Gay Stanley Uris, Hair-pulling, Ignored Safeword, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealous Bill Denbrough, Jealous Stanley Uris, Kink Exploration, Lab Sex, Lapdance, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Light Sadism, M/M, Marking, Mental Breakdown, Mike Hanlon Has a Daughter, Minor Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Multiple Orgasms, Name-Calling, Neck Kissing, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Violence, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Names, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Protective Eddie Kaspbrak, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Riding, Rimming, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Safeword Use, Safewords, Sex Toys, Sex on Furniture, Sexual Roleplay, Sexual Violence, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Stanley Uris Loves Bill Denbrough, Time Skips, Top Bill Denbrough, Top Stanley Uris, Triggers, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex, Wet Dream, Whipping, kind of?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27919294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashhlys/pseuds/Ashhlys
Summary: "Eddie, look, if I run out of the restaurant screaming bloody murder, I'll let you glare at me and scold me all you want. Especially you of all people know just how much I despise this thought. I hate what I’m going to do, if not more, at least as much as you. But now I need you to support me a little. Can you do that?"***"Uh, it should be under the name of..." He furrowed his eyebrows, tried to correctly pronounce the last name he saw on the card in his mind before speaking up with an unsure tone. "I think… I think it's Denbaragh?"***"What are you looking at?""Fierce one, huh? I like you."***"What do you want, Stanley?""You, Sir. I want you."***"Eddie, I… I did something. Something bad. "***“Stan, I love you.”***“You want to continue? He used you, you fucking idiot! He took advantage of you!"***“Does this mean anything to you?”“What-”“Are we just having sex? Or is it more than psychical contact for you?”***"Eddie, I think I fell in love..."
Relationships: Ben Hanscom & Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough & Audra Phillips, Bill Denbrough & Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15





	1. Finding a Job is Hard. Finding a Daddy isn't.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I decided to start another Stenbrough fanfiction until I sort things out with my new Reddie one. I probably will be uploading this every Thursday, and if you have any suggestions, please do let me know!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why won't you take a seat, Mr Uris? Let's get to know each other a little before talking about business."  
> ***  
> "What are you looking at?"
> 
> That sentence was much less violent in his head than how it sounded from outside, making him panic slightly as he searched for any faltering at the author's smile. But it only widened, to Stan's surprise.
> 
> "Fierce one, huh? I like you." The author said like it was a joke. But it was only half a joke. He felt like he actually liked Stan. The man scowled, rolling his eyes.  
> ***  
> He stared at Stan through the rear-view mirror that was seated at the back, waiting for him to stare back, giving him a worried look.
> 
> "He was watching."
> 
> That was the only sentence that got said the whole ride as it drove the three men into their own thoughts, making the ride into a tense one in just seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. Thank you for beginning this semi-experimental journey with me. I sincerely hope you enjoy the first chapter of "Purple Haze".

It was a nice, warm, typical day in California. The sun was shining bright; the birds were chirping cheerfully, fucking cars were being loud as fuck like always, the people on the streets going on about their days.

The man was waiting quite impatiently for his friend, his feet furiously tapping against the brown floor tiles of the café he was seated at underneath the table; his hands clutched together right beside his phone on the table, a pair of panicked eyes darting between its pitch black screen and the café's door continuously.

He didn't remember feeling this anxious ever since... Well, he really didn't remember actually being _this_ anxious _ever_ either. There were occasions that could definitely compete with his stress level now, but... He had much bigger issues than thinking and worrying about those times at the moment.

When the doorbell above the glass door chimed, informing someone had either exited or entered the building; he snapped his head towards there and saw a redhead walk in. A relieved smile spread across his lips with a soft sigh as he felt like he could actually burst into tears from the overwhelming happiness he felt at the moment.

The gorgeous woman that had entered the café looked around for a while to find her friend, smiled widely when she finally spotted Stan. She waved at the man with a wide smile that tugged onto her lips and walked to the barista to order her coffee, then walked towards the table he was sitting at after a (not really)long while of dreadful waiting.

"Hey." She greeted, sitting down opposite from the man that looked like he could pass out at any given second from the stress he was feeling.

"Ben was about to piss his fucking pants when I told him I had a 'date' with a lucky man today."

"That's fun, Bev," he grimaced with the unholy amount of stress he was under, wiping the sweat that had gathered on his palms on the thighs of his jeans.

"But, I need to tell-No, well… Ask you something."

She smiled and took a long sip from her creamy coffee that Stan would have given her shit about the 'dangers of putting milk in coffee' if he didn't have something much more important occupying his mind at the moment. That kind of worried the woman but she knew Stan would tell her sooner or later. For now, she needed to make small talk to try to calm her friend down as best as she could.

"Did you finally find a full-time job? Stan, I'm so proud of-"

"No, Bev," he sighed. "I'm still waiting... I'm still unemployed." Admitting, he avoided her gaze as he sighed again, deep, he started to play with the hem of his shirt. Beverly's eyes widened, a deep, worried frown starting to form on her face.

"What are you going to do, Stan? You can't feed yourself making coffee and cleaning tables all your life. Mine and Richie's offer of giving you a job is still up you know? Connor was a little shit; you shouldn't have to suffer because of his shit." Beverly sighed, giving him an apologetic smile. But Stan really needed a job. Even that job wasn't related to his profession. And any job other than a barista please, thank you.

"Honey, I'm really starting to think you're going to need a Sugar Daddy or something at this point." She teased the man to lighten the mood, her wide shit-eating grin faltered when she saw her friend visibly flinch at her words.

" _Oh, fuck_..." She whispered and her horrified gaze met with Stan's sheepish one.

"Oh, no... Honey, you're not thinking of... Doing that, are you?"

"I don't-I don't know... I don't know anything, Bev."

The thought of having a "Sugar Daddy" and obeying someone and calling them names that automatically made them superior to you _with_ your consent was a concept that was very alien to Stan. It was weird and he really struggled to wrap his head around the fact that there were people actually enjoyed doing that.

He found the thought of it quite embarrassing, absolutely lunatic and fucking humiliating. But he knew he wouldn't be able to find a job that easy after what had happened with his partner. And as an addition this was fucking California with the rate %11.7 of underemployment.

"I'm not sure... I'm not going to find a job anytime soon. And I'm very uncomfortable with the thought of my friends helping me financially. Maybe finding someone that could provide me with some extra cash than smelling coffee beans most of the fucking day would be nice. And I’ve started to slightly despise coffee which is fucking ridiculous."

Beverly didn't really like how the man thought of giving him a job as a friend would be "helping them financially". But it really wasn’t helping someone since it would involve the both sides with the gain of something. A benefit. But she knew better than to try to reason with Stan right now. He really did seem to hate the idea of working for his friends. But she could at least make sure he would be safe.

"Okay, but-Well… Are you planning on... Y'know... Uh-" Stan scoffed, shaking his head with a disgusted frown plastered onto his face.

"No, Bev. I'm not really interested in having sex with strangers." Beverly crossed her arms, not believing Stan’s words.

"Where exactly are you going to find someone that will give you money just because you keep them company and not actually want to have sex?" Her eyebrows were furrowed, showing the not-at-all-deep three lines of stress on her forehead, a small frown present on her lips.

Stan fell into pure silence, bit down onto his bottom lip and looked up at his friend. And Beverly _knew_ that look. She had seen it so many times before. Then she finally understood why she had been invited on this "coffee date" with one of her dearest friends, Stanley Uris. That look meant he wanted something but he couldn't bring himself to voice it because he was too ashamed with the thing on his mind.

He wanted( _needed_ ) the woman to find him someone like that. She groaned and leaned her forehead over to the table, hitting it against the cool wood a few times to ground herself.

"Oh, boy," Stan gave a sheepish smile to the top of her hair. She raised her head and placed her chin on the table this time, watching Stan's face grimace after that. "I'm fucked."

"Bev, I _really_ need you to do this for me." He reached over, grabbed her hand after a bit of struggling, and shook his head with a desperate frown.

"You must know someone that could use a person to clean around or do something for them regularly. I can cook; I can take care of plants and pets… Please, I'll owe you one."

"Fuck, Stanley! _Fine!_ " She raised an accusing finger up towards his face. “But you owe me a fucking lifetime sir! This won’t be fucking easy for neither of us.”

And that was the origin of Stanley Uris' second career(third if you counted the first failed one), being a Sugar Baby for a famous novelist and the reason he was standing right outside of a fancy restaurant in a tight fitting suit that Beverly had designed for him, trying not to have a breakdown right then and there.

Beverly didn't(couldn't) leave her friend hanging even though she didn't really approve of Stan's new potentially alternative way of earning money. But she trusted his judgement and knew he wouldn’t ever do something that went against his comfort zone.

He looked back at the black SUV that his friend had brought him here with and watched the window on his side roll down to reveal a very, _very_ upset and as distressed-looking Eddie Kaspbrak frowning at him from the driver’s seat.

"Eddie, look, if I run out of the restaurant screaming bloody murder, I'll let you glare at me and scold me all you want. Especially you of all people know just how much I despise this thought. I hate what I’m going to do, if not more, _at least_ as much as you." He sighed, walked closer to the window and placed his hands on the gap of the door.

"But now I need you to support me a little. Can you do that?"

"F'course we can, Stan the Man!"

Both men flinched by the loud voice of one specific Trashmouth filling the car and their ears. Cursing out loud for entirely different reasons, they looked at one another with wide.

Eddie had forgotten that he had called his husband the moment Stan got out of the car. Stan didn't know Richie was on the phone with Eddie; therefore he wasn’t expecting to hear his voice at all. He had the rights to be frightened by him. Eddie didn't.

"What the fuck, Richard?" They both said in synch, smiled at each other, chuckling afterwards. They heard Richie's loud giggle from the other side as well, making them smile once again and shake their heads.

"Well, you sounded like you were desperate for someone's support, dude. But I have to say: what you're doing is _fucking stupid_. And just as fucking dangerous."

Both men fell into pure silence after Richie's semi-angry scolding, not knowing how to react to that. Eddie was amazed by his maturity about the topic; Stan was stunned since he wasn't expecting Richie to be this serious. He sometimes forgot how much the comedian loved his friends and would do absolutely anything for them.

"But doing stupid shit is my motto, baby. I support you, Stanny. But if that fucker tries any funny business, I'll be sure to deal with him." There was regular Richie for you.

"You mean: You'll inform your manager to deal with him?" Eddie said, one of his eyebrows raised with amusement. There was a short pause after that.

"Asshole."

* * *

Stan finally gathered enough courage to actually break away from the comforting safety of Eddie's car five minutes to the actual meeting time, his knees shaking violently under his weight, his head feeling light, and his vision blurry. He felt nauseous, like he could pass out at any second.

But he needed to do this. Well, he at least needed to see the guy for himself. He definitely didn't need or wanted a fucking creep up his ass if he actually went to the dude's house. Not that Beverly would let that happen. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

And knowing that he had Richie's(and technically Eddie's) support, he started to feel a tad better about this. Still, he had his phone clutched to his hand and Eddie had warned Stan to call him if he felt unsafe for about twenty times until they arrived at the restaurant and Stan was more than ready to strangle him to death just to get some silence right then.

But of course, he didn't. Him now walking into the fancy building was the most recent proof of that fact. He forced a smile as a woman in a black and white suit with a tight but terrifyingly massive bun on her head approached him with a welcoming but still somehow cold smile, and asked for his reservation.

The man felt his palms start to sweat as his hands dipped into his pockets, abandoning his phone in one of them in the process, struggled to fish out the business card of the author he was about to meet and talk about... Business. Yeah, business. That would do nicely.

_Financial bullshit, you know? Just casual every day stuff for Stan, no big deal._

"Uh, it should be under the name of..." He furrowed his eyebrows, tried to correctly pronounce the last name he saw on the card in his mind before speaking up with an unsure tone.

"I think… I think it's Denbaragh?" He instantly knew he wasn’t even remotely close by the slight twitch of her wide smile.

"It's… It’s actually _Denbrough_ , sir. Do follow me, please."

Stan felt extremely embarrassed to actually getting his... _Employer's_ name wrong. He was never someone to make a mistake that silly and stupid. In fact, he hated when someone else did that to him or to other people. But he was so fucking nervous that almost half of his brain wasn't cooperating with him under that much pressure.

So, he just sheepishly followed the woman and desperately tried to find amusement in her second head that sat on top of her real one to help him relax a little, trying to picture the way and hear what Richie would have said about this and how Eddie would shush and scold him in front of her but then absolutely laugh his ass off when they were alone, how he would act out what they had seen with Richie and somehow managing to make the situation much more funnier than it actually is.

And that method of his worked... Kind of..? _Not really._

Well, it _was_ actually working until he let out a small snort and immediately looked away from the woman's bun in case she turned around and found out that he had been laughing at her, locking eyes with a man he had never seen before(naturally, since this was the kind of place he would avoid the shit out of).

He had a nice haircut, a subtle quiff that sat on top of his sharp-figured frame, the ginger/chestnut colour of it-Stan guessed the name of the shade was rust-, the blueness of his irises reminded Stan of an ice cube. But a nice, warm one. And Stanley knew it didn't make any sense but it kind of did to him. It was complicated.

The man smiled at him, a very warm, genuine smile. It made Stan want to smile as well. He didn't know why he felt that but he tried to shake off the feeling and a deep frown formed on his face instead of that desired smile.

And he literally felt his heart sank down to his stomach when he saw the woman walk right up to that very table, leading the shaking man towards that very handsome guy. And he was even more handsome up close and this really wasn't the best time for Stan to notice that fact since he was going to have to talk with him at some point. And as they got closer to him, Stan was able to make out the semi-thick stripes of grey hair right above his ears, making him look probably older and more mature than he actually was.

The black-suited woman that he had been following around stopped right by the table Mr Denbrough was seated at. He turned his head and stared at her calm, collected eyes with wide ones by her side.

"Sir, your guest has arrived. Please do enjoy your night." The man smiled at her, then at Stan.

"I will. Thank you." His voice was nice, soothing. Stan hated that he liked the tone of it.

He nodded at the woman, watching her walk for a second before turning back to the man who was still standing by the table, in the same position when he stopped beside the waitress. The man's business card still in his hands(without Stan realising it was), he was fiddling with it because of the stress he was under now.

He just wished that he didn't have a panic attack. That could fuck up his chance of having a deal even before something he did would.

"Why won't you take a seat, Mr Uris? Let's get to know each other a little before talking about business."

Stan found himself rolling his eyes under the spell of fuck knows which demonic spirit to have that kind of courage all of a sudden at the word "business" and at how casual the man had said it, making Bill chuckle as he shook his head before gesturing him to take a seat.

The man finally did actually sit down, feeling a little more relaxed than before; and maybe having made the William Denbrough laugh helped with that relaxation. Stan wasn't sure. But he certainly didn't plan on focusing on figuring out what made him relax like that since he would give all his attention to not fuck this night up and hopefully get the job that would give him the financial stability he had craved for so long.

Because the thought of a thirty two years old man earning his life not by working in an office where he could actually put his profession to use, but by serving coffee six days a week instead was pathetic. Just like the reason why he was there, sitting down opposite of a writer, getting ready to talk about their business was pathetic. He felt... Well, pathetic. And that pretty much completed his daily dose of self-destruction. _Yay...?_

And after a while of silence between the two men, Stan finally noticed that in those silent moments, the author was looking at him with a smile that he couldn't quite decipher what emotion lied behind, his eyes tingling with something he was getting slightly scared of but still craved more of. It was rather a confusing experience for Stanley, to say the least.

"What are you looking at?"

That sentence was much less violent in his head than how it sounded from outside, making him panic slightly as he searched for any faltering at the author's smile. But it only widened, to Stan's surprise.

"Fierce one, huh? I like you." The author said like it was a joke. But it was only half a joke. He felt like he actually liked Stan. The man scowled, rolling his eyes.

"Don't make a choice that certain, that fast. You probably don't even know who I am. I could be a fucking murderer." Stan spat, not knowing why he got that defensive all of a sudden.

"Well, I don't think a murderer would out themselves in a restaurant that's packed with people and not knowing if the conversation between us is being recorded or if I have any security guards around."

Stan scoffed, still playing with the man's card, not really realising he was doing that. And Mr Denbrough was more than pleased to watch him fiddle with that with a knowing smile tugged onto his lips, already wanting to have Stan all for himself. And he didn't even know why Stan subconsciously doing that made him feel this way.

"And as for me 'not knowing you', I know that your name is Stanley "Stan" Uris-"

"Stanley for formal. Stan for friends."

"Your name is Stan Uris-Stan narrowed his eyes after hearing that, but the author continued without being bothered by it in the slightest- and you're thirty two years old and unemployed apart from the job you've got that makes you serve coffee and clean tables all day. You wanted to be a mathematician but you got screwed over by your friend and previous business partner and that was the reason you got fired from your old job that paid well."

Stan just listened to the man, wide eyed; the only sound that had come from him in these few moments was his outburst from before.

"You're good friends with Richie Tozier, the famous stand-up comedian and voice actor. The man is actually very funny; I have to tell you that." He chuckled, thinking of the last video he had seen of the comedian.

"And, you're gay, fought with your parents when you were seventeen over that and ran away from home, came to the big city and tried to earn money doing that and this all your life.” He shook his head and started to tap his fingers against the table.

“You really need to relax a little now, don't you think?"

Stan didn't react this time, he just sighed, slowly shaking his head at the man’s words.

"Did Beverly give you all that information and you studied it to impress me or are you on the phone with her and she's telling you what you should say to impress me?" The author chuckled; full of glee as the man was finally getting a tad bolder with him.

"I'm using my photographic memory. _To impress you_. It's useful when you're a novelist."

He said the second part in a slightly mocking tone(although it _was_ kind of true), making Stan roll his eyes and look down. He finally realised that he had been fiddling with the card of the man that sat opposite of him all this time.

His eyes widened at the realisation and he struggled to quickly put it away, making the author chuckle and open his mouth. But a waiter that was approaching to their table saved Stan from being teased to death by embarrassment.

And that situation wasn't even that funny or embarrassing. It was just Stan being really awkward at the moment and the author saw that as a chance to use that opportunity to make him feel even more embarrassed.

"May I take your orders?"

The writer looked up at the man with a cold smile that actually made Stan think he was mad for some reason but that coldness melted away almost immediately; and he locked eyes with Stan to silently ask him to look through the menu that was already on the table. They chose what they wanted and the waiter took their orders and finally walked away, only to return to the table with a champagne bottle a few moments later.

After placing their drinks on the table, he went away for the second time, this time long enough to actually give the two men time and privacy to have a decent conversation, making Stan realise that he didn't really need to be so on edge while talking with the author.

"Bill" was actually a pretty funny guy with some good jokes in store and they had a lot in common. They talked about economy(not related to their business), politics, books, movies, music and even a bit about their private lives. They found out they shared a very similar taste in nearly everything they talked about that made the both men smile at one another.

"I still don't understand how you can listen to Diana Ross without wanting to set the whole fucking house on fire." Stan shook his head with a small smile, imagining himself doing that for a moment.

"I'm broke, Bill. Not a celebrity that has the luxury to even think about doing that." Bill nodded, smiling at Stan.

"And _that_ brings us to our topic of the day."

Stan tensed up after that. He was very looking forward to talk about more 80s classics with Bill. He wanted to literally talk about anything but _that_ topic. The author realised why Stan had gone quiet after a while of silence between them, gave the man a reassuring smile before he reached and held his hand from over the table.

"Look, if you're uncomfortable, we can talk about this another time and just enjoy the rest of the time we have tonight. Or we can just talk it out tonight and don't leave anything for us to clean up afterwards and be free until you actually begin the job."

He gave Stan's hands hand a gentle squeeze before letting go of it. The man got mad at himself for being disappointed at the loss of their psychical contact. He thought for a moment before slowly nodding his head.

"You're right.” He shook his head before sighing deeply. “I'm just being childish."

"Being stressed about something you wouldn't do otherwise you really had to is not ‘being childish’, Stanley. It's called _being cautious_."

Stanley. He had called him _Stanley_. It had been thirteen fucking years since someone had called him that seriously(Bill's introduction of Stan didn't count). He really despised his full name because of the person it reminded Stan, but hearing it from Bill's mouth... It really wasn't that bad. He even could go wild and say that he liked it. Stan was fucked if he kept feeling like that because of every little gesture that came from the author.

" _Shit_."

Bill opened his mouth to probably ask what was wrong but he got cut off before he even had a chance to speak up by the same waiter again that came towards their table with two plates in his hands. Both men fell into pure silence then, they only spoke up to thank the waiter and watched him walk away.

Stan turned to look at Bill and found him already staring, waiting for the man to begin. Bill sighed, pointing down at Stan's plate with his hand with a gentle smile. His smile grew wider as Stan finally began to eat, deciding to try to ease him up a tad.

"So, I liked you quite a lot, Stan." He said as he took a piece of the meat with his fork that Stan fucking loved the taste of. It had been quite a while since the man last ate something decent and actually delicious like this steak. He swallowed his bite before raising an eyebrow at Bill.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. And I think we will get along just fine. I want you to begin the job as soon as you possibly can." Bill let that sink in for a bit before speaking up again.

"Is there anything you would like to ask? Maybe to draw the furthest line we want to go?"

"I... I really am not sure about the sexual part, Bill. If you want someone who can provide you with that kind of pleasure, I advise you hire someone else. I wouldn't like to steal that release from you."

Bill nodded, took another piece of his steak and slowly chewed as he silently studied Stan in the process. The man was eating kind of fast but he definitely wasn't a messy eater. His eyes then darted up and he looked at his face thoroughly, studying him.

His hair was nearly fully flattened down to frame his face nicely, but the curls of it was still visible at the ends. It was a nice dirty blond that had darker coloured streaks in-between. He had sharp features, a visible jawline and a thin, pointy nose, a thick neck, well-shaped eyebrows and a nice shade of brown ring wrapping his pupils. He had broad shoulders and a thinner waist that his jacket suit framed just beautifully, making his chest stand out even more than it originally was.

His stare fell down to his hands that held the fork and knife majestically. He had a royal aura that he didn't even try hard to carry. It was naturally there, surrounding the beautiful man. He had slender fingers and well-trimmed, clean fingernails. And he definitely didn't look like someone that would make a mess at home.

Bill really did like Stan and the man was aware it wasn't just him thinking Stan was suitable for the job. He looked like a genuinely nice guy. He would've loved to be friends with him. And maybe they still could be despite the circumstances they would be meeting up for.

"So," Stan said all of a sudden, making Bill widen his eyes and try to quickly look away, but still he got caught by the man. But thankfully he didn't say anything, and just gave him a ‘ _What is your problem, mate?_ ’ look with his eyebrows and took a sip from his drink before speaking up again.

"What exactly will I be doing if not any sexual activities? I mean, the whole concept of getting a ‘Sugar Daddy’ is sexual."

"It really doesn't have to be sexual if you think about it." Bill spoke up calmly, a warm smile on his face to try to make Stan relax a tad.

"It's just an act two people perform according to some well-thought-out terms that both parties completely agree on. You can think about it just as a little game of name-calling while doing various things around the house and accompanying me out every now and then."

Stan nodded before gathering the steak's remaining sweet/sour sauce from his plate and onto his knife. He licked it off and placed his cutlery on top of his plate, neatly cleaned his mouth with the napkin and linked the fingers of his hands in front of his plate on the table.

Bill smiled at the man that looked very awkward now that he had nothing he could do to keep himself busy. His gaze fell down to his plate before he placed his own cutlery on the napkin on top of the table and slid his plate towards Stan as he grabbed the man's empty one.

He tried to oppose to the author's gesture with a half-assed argument that Bill knew was just for showing politeness. He already knew Stan was going to accept the plate anyway. But he wanted to play with Stan a little before he actually let the man eat in peace.

"Okay, if you're against it this much, I'll have to feed you."

Bill was kind of surprised how he actually had to bite his tongue as he spoke to prevent himself from saying ‘Daddy’ instead of ‘I’. How quickly he had adapted to his ‘role’, how natural it felt. And before Stan found the time to process the author's words, the man's cutlery was back in his hands as he cut a piece and held it up for Stan to eat it.

He just looked down at the steak piece attached to the fork that was being held up for him with wide eyes for a moment before glaring back up at the author's expectant eyes, waiting for him to take the meat. But Stan looked sceptical.

"I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself." The author just smiled and pointed down at the fork with his eyebrows.

Stan rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile twitched at the tips of his lips before as he leaned over and grabbed the ‘offering’ Bill had given to him with his teeth, careful not to actually touch the silver fork with his lips, starting to chew slowly.

"See? Your job isn't that hard, is it? You just need to do as I say if you're comfortable with it. That easy." That was a risqué move to do since Bill really didn't know Stan would accept the steak. But he had hope.

"So, what do you say?" Stan couldn't help the amused smirk that had appeared on his lips.

"Oh, you smooth fucker."

The rest of the night was full of small talks, shared glances and loud laughter. But Stan didn't say anything about accepting or declining Bill's offer. And the author was getting more and more anxious by each passing minute, finally being convinced that the man was just milking everything he could from Bill before they parted ways for good. But things took a different turn than he was expecting at the end of the night.

Bill paid for the dinner and the dessert, escorting Stan out of the restaurant. He turned towards the author when they were out of the building with an appreciative smile as he held his hand out.

"I think we will be just fine, Mr Denbrough. I'd love to accept your offer." The author smiled down at the hand that was being offered him and shook it firmly.

"I think so too. I'm looking forward to work with you."

They parted ways after Stan had declined the author's offer of giving him a ride back home, saying that his friend was going to pick him up. Which, Eddie was really on his way with a plus one as a surprise.

And as Stan waited for them, unaware of a pair of blue eyes watching his every move to make sure he actually got a ride, he took out a cigarette out from his pocket and lit it knowing damn well Eddie was going to give him shit for the ‘disgusting smell’ of it.

_‘Oh, he smokes._ ’Bill found himself thinking as he watched the man gracefully take a long drag from it and exhale the smoke. Then his eyes locked onto something, he quickly threw it down and stepped on it to put it out. He exhaled one last time before trying to wave the smoke away from around his head with his hands and quickly put them down to his sides as a big, black car approached Stan and stopped right before him.

Bill narrowed his eyes to see who it was(he was a curious one), and rolled his window down to see more clearly. The passenger door of the car opened and someone jumped out and pulled Stan into a hug that the man tried to push off. But in the end he gave in and hugged the man back before starting to pat his back. And when the man finally pulled away he saw who that was: The not-at-all-infamous Richard Tozier.

He was smiling bright and wide and he looked so much better than he did in his last show. His dark hair was pulled in a loose bun on top of his head, the dark circles under his eyes were long gone, one of his signature shirts was thrown over his shoulders. He laughed, pointing back at the car as he told something to Stan, the driver's door of the car opened afterwards.

Another man got out of the vehicle that carried a frown on his face-or maybe it was his normal face-, making the author think that he was Richie's chauffeur. But as soon as he saw Stan and Richie his frown turned into a bright smile; and he wrapped his arms around Stan. Richie said something else before wrapping the both men with his arms and stayed like that until both of them pushed the comedian off of themselves.

Richie smiled again, put an arm around the frowning man's shoulders and leaned in towards his face. Bill was expecting him to shove the comedian away or to maybe shout at him, but he did neither. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Richie's waist and placed a firm kiss onto his lips before pulling away.

He started to watch Richie and Stan have a conversation as his free hand fixed the comedian's Hawaiian shirt with a slight frown on his face. He then only realised that he was the shortest of the three, yet still managed to look like he had the most authority. And maybe he did.

The same man looked around with the same posture from before; a deep frown on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. Bill didn't really think that he was looking for him and locked eyes with him for a few seconds before the man's frown deepened. He turned his body to fully face the author's direction and continued his stare-down at Bill.

The author got uncomfortable under the cold, sharp gaze of the man and rolled his window up before brushing his hair off of his face. He started the car and drove away. And as he did, he could _still_ feel the piercing eyes of that man glaring daggers at the back of his head.

Eddie narrowed eyes but didn’t speak up as he silently followed Richie and Stan into the car, got inside himself all the while carrying that same, deep and thoughtful frown.

He stared at Stan through the rear-view mirror that was seated at the back, waiting for him to stare back, giving him a worried look.

"He was watching."

That was the only sentence that got said the whole ride as it drove the three men into their own thoughts, making the ride into a tense one in just seconds.

_"Why?"_ Was the only thing Stan could think as he stared out of the window and into the night sky, calculating how this night had worked out in the end. Then he came to this conclusion:

Finding a job was harder than finding a Sugar Daddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hold back from leaving a comment as it helps me improve my writing and the story line.  
> See you next week!


	2. Desires Taking Over.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill thrust his hips against Stan's, making him cry out with pleasure. He placed his hands on his waist, dragged him down to his hard member and grinded on him, using him as his lips moved along the pale skin of Stan's neck, sucking and licking at it harshly, drawing small whines from the man. He grazed his teeth over the red ribbon’s one end, bit at it and dragged it away, watching how it came loose and fell down to the sofa.
> 
> "Please what, baby? What do you need?"
> 
> He heard himself mumble against Stan's ear, feeling the goose bumps that spread all over the man’s body against Bill's touch. Stan grabbed the back of Bill's head and neck with his shaky hands, and pressed down against the writer's hard-on once again.
> 
> "You, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn who? (I'm joking, obviously) Explicit content starts from this chapter, if you didn't pay attention to the tags, I advise you do so.  
> Enjoy!

(Five Weeks Later)

The grounding, strong smell of freshly brewed coffee, the constant ringing of the doorbell of the café, the loud sounds coming from the machines that had been placed all around inside. Customers coming in and walking out, burning his hands while preparing various kinds of fancy coffees that Stan actually despised. Those were the familiar things the man had been experiencing nearly every day.

The small talks with co-workers, sometimes slight arguments with overly flirty customers, the screams and cries of babies and toddlers. He was still trying to get used to the last one, but the general idea was there. _This_ was the life he had been familiar with for a long time. And now, he had something else to do regularly(four days a week to be exact). That was, going to William Denbrough's house and accompany him for the right price.

He still wasn't fully comfortable with the whole concept but thankfully Bill was an understanding man. He had never requested something that Stan wouldn't want to do. He had never tried to push the man's limits and had always kept his hands to himself.

The only times the two were touching were completely innocent or on accident. And Stan wasn't sure if he wanted to keep it that way anymore. He felt like... He felt like he was craving more of the writer. He wanted more of him. He felt just like nicotine.

He wanted to touch him. He wanted to kiss him. And maybe even to fuck him.

The man's eyes widened at his thoughts, he shook his head violently. Stan had to pull his shit together _, what the fuck_ was he even thinking? Of course what he wanted would never happen.

He put the cloth he had in his hand down onto the counter and looked around to find Natasha, smiling when he finally did see her.

He waved at her, feeling full of joy with the thought of finally being free of his shift with her arrival as he watched her interact with her girlfriend that brought her to her shift every day. They had such great chemistry and they promised to invite him to their wedding someday. Lucky them.

He walked to the back room that had the employee's lockers and removed his violet apron with a relieved sigh. Then his cap came off, his white uniform shirt following close behind.

He quickly pulled on his own button up, neatly folded everything he had pulled off and carefully placed them into his locker, fixed his hair with the help of his reflection in the mirror on the door of it, finally closing it afterwards. He stepped towards the door to get out, paused before he actually opened it and felt around his pockets to confirm he had everything he needed.

Relieved to find out he did, he quickly got out of there, looked around before stepping out of the semi-large building, only being aware of the strong coffee scent that he had carried out with himself. He shrugged. Well, what could he do? Shame, if Bill didn't like coffee but Stan then remembered that he was wrong.

The author actually loved coffee of all kinds. Even those fancy ones that baristas(including himself) put way more stuff in than necessary, covering the taste of the actual coffee itself with sweetness or the scent of different spices.

And, if the man was feeling generous, he would make another coffee just for the writer at the end of his shift and would bring that whenever he went to the author's house, making him smile brightly before thanking Stan for the coffee. Oh, the things that smile did to Stan. That very smile that made his heart pound right against his ribcage. Maybe the reason why his smile made him feel like a schoolgirl was the fact that those coffees were made by Stan. Who knows?

Stan remembered that he was planning on making coffee today as well but he felt very tired this time. The café was literally packed with people from the moment they opened their door until the end of the man’s shift. But he couldn't remember why he made a mental note about that.

Oh well... He _will_ remember later on anyway, right?

He got a cab and gave the author's address, thanking to whoever was up there that the driver was a silent and polite one. The ride wasn't too long since Bill's house wasn't too far from where he worked at but he really didn't feel walking that day.

He thanked the cabby and tipped him before getting out of the car and looked around himself, taking in everything he saw. Even though Stan had been here multiple times before, he still couldn't help but to admire the aesthetic beauty of Bill's house every time he saw it.

It was designed by a famous architect and it really was showing. Every detail looked like it had been well thought-out and very beautiful. He really loved it here. And even though he didn't know who that ‘famous architect’ was, but he guessed it could have been Benjamin Hanscom; his dear friend Beverly's boyfriend of four years.

He stepped towards the front door, knocked three times and took a step back, waiting for it to open. But even after he had been waiting for a while, nothing happened, making Stan roll his eyes and knock on the door once more.

Again, nothing. He furrowed his eyebrows, raising his hand up to the door knock again before he heard a loud groan, and then he finally remembered why he had made that mental note about bringing coffee with him today.

Bill had a deadline coming and the ending of one of his latest books wasn't ready. Therefore, the writer was a literal cube of stress and anger nowadays. He was getting mad at literally anything that even breathed in the wrong way a few metres near him. Stan didn't know why but he felt kind of scared. Scared of Bill. Even though he knew that the author would never harm him.

Still, he was scared like he had made the mistake of awakening a beast from its supposed never-ending slumber.

The door opened after a bit more of him waiting on edge and revealed Bill Denbrough. Bill Denbrough in his worst ever state possibly imaginable. Stan couldn't help the gasp that escaped his parted lips.

He had huge, purplish black, deep bags that sat under his tired eyes, making him look like he had been long deceased. His skin was paler than usual and his hair looked like a literal bird nest(Stan would know).

He had absolutely ridiculously mismatched clothes(according to Stan) that consisted of a long-sleeved grey t-shirt, a white collar of another showing from the grey one's V neck with a red, blue and green pyjama pants underneath them, and lastly, brown slippers. He looked like a total disaster and Stan didn’t think that was possible.

Bill's deep frown lightened up a tad when he saw Stan before him with a bewildered expression on his face, just staring as Bill pushed his thin framed black glasses up to sit on top of his head. He bent down and placed the empty yellow coffee mug that had a cartoonish face decorating it on the floor before he turned back to the man and opened his arms.

At first, Stan didn't understand what Bill wanted. But when the writer took a step closer and waved his arms towards Stan, he finally realised that he wanted a hug. It gave the man a short-lived shock session before he broke into a small smile and rolled his eyes as he stepped in-between Bill's arms, letting the writer fall down, right onto his chest.

He was slightly taller than Bill so he had the advantage of staring down at him while they hugged, a warm smile spreading across his lips as he hugged the writer back, patting his back soothingly. He looked up and to the side and saw their reflection in the mirror of the hall.

At first his chest felt tight after seeing how well they fitted together, how natural their touch felt. He felt… He felt happy. Well, up until he saw just how much Bill's legs shook under his weight, struggling to carry the author. He was clearly in no good condition at all.

"How much sleep did you get?" Bill groaned into Stan's shoulder, turned his head until his face was nuzzled up against his neck. Stan patted his back harder this time, giving the author's shoulder a short, quick squeeze.

"How much sleep did you get, Bill?" The writer sighed into Stan's neck, making the sensitive skin there crawl with goose bumps.

"'m not sure." He mumbled, tightening his grip on the man's waist. "But I feel really tired."

"Then get some sleep."

"No, I need to finish the book, Stan."

Bill broke away from Stan's arms and trembled on his legs for a moment as if he was a new born deer before he tried to bend down and grab the mug again before Stan stepped inside and quickly removed his shoes before placing his hands on the writer's shoulders and pulled him back up.

"You won't be able to finish shit if you pass out because of over-exhaustion. _Go to sleep_." Stan demanded with a stern tone. Bill frowned and looked like he was thinking about it for a second before shaking his head.

"I can't-" Stan cut him off by clasping a hand over the writer's mouth with a small, worried smile.

"Fucking move already. I promise I'll come and wake you up after two hours. You really need that to pull yourself together a bit."

"Can you make coffee after I wake up?" He looked sheepish and that made Stan smile.

"I will make you anything you want if you sleep. Now, go." He felt like a parent talking their toddler into eating the vegetable they hated. Or someone who was taking care of their sick and whiny lover.

And it was moments like this that made Stan continue on with what he had with Bill. It was moments like this that made him feel somewhat softer. Moments like this that him feel things that he never gave his consent to feel in the first place.

But he still let himself imagine that they were in a relationship. As if they were something more than an employee and the employer. He let himself imagine that he was Bill's husband and he was worried about his _husband's_ health for just a split moment.

But of course, the harsh reality was there. Right up his arse, not leaving him alone in peace or with his own thoughts.

They would never be anything more than what they are right now. Bill was just some celebrity that just needed someone's _company_ for a while. Not their affection or love. And he was just a thirty years old man that desperately needed the money that came with doing just that.

He walked inside and placed his jacket on the armrest of the red leather sofa before him, took his phone out to set an alarm for two hours later and looked around himself to find a task to busy himself with until Bill was supposed to wake up. The search didn't really take too long as the house was a fucking mess.

* * *

The loud ringing of the alarm startled the man that had been washing the dishes in the kitchen, almost making him drop the frying pan he had been cleaning momentarily.

He sighed, placed the pan down and reached for the hand cloth to dry his hands, placed his hand against his pounding heart after they were dry enough. He walked towards the sofa that he had left his phone on, turned the alarm off before returning to the kitchen and finished the task he had at hand, knowing that the writer could use the bonus few minutes.

But Stan knew better than to let Bill sleep more than he was originally promised of. _That_ would probably piss him off and Stan didn't really want that to happen. At least not for now, when he was in that state.

So, he walked towards the author's room with slow steps, careful not to make too much sound on the way-like he wasn't going to wake him up anyway-. He slowly opened the door of the room before him, entered it just as slowly and paused as he couldn't see Bill anywhere at first. But then he was able to make out the figure under the blankets. A warm smile spread across his face.

He slowly stepped towards the bed and walked around it to reach to the area where he guessed stood Bill's head. He wasn't wrong. He saw the strands of hair that poured out onto the pillow from underneath the blanket, making him chuckle softly before he slowly peeled it off from the man's body.

Bill stirred, furrowing his eyebrows as he muttered something under his breath, and turned to the side, proceeding to bury his face into the mattress. Stan huffed, rolling his eyes as he walked to the other side, slowly nudging the man from his shoulder, waving his other hand in front of his face.

"Bill? Hey, Bill. Wake up." Bill just stirred again, trying to turn to the other side again. Stan didn't let him do that this time and pressed a knee against the bed; he grabbed his shoulder tighter and made him lie on his back instead.

"Bill! Come on, your two hours is up. Wake up!"

The author finally did open his eyes but he still didn't look like he was awake. He looked around himself with dull eyes until his eyes focused on Stan and he closed them again and started to blindly swatting his arm up around until it collided with the man's back.

Letting a pleased mumble, Bill grasped the back of Stan's shirt, and pulled him down on top of his chest, tightened his arms around his torso as Stan tried to wriggle out of the author's immovable grasp. His heart felt like it was pounding right out of his chest but he knew it wasn’t because of fright. Well, it kind of was.

He was scared of Bill noticing just how fast it started to beat against his chest and question the reason behind it. He was scared of why he felt this way even though he never wanted things to become like this. It had been only a few weeks since he had started doing this.

He was scared of himself. Of him loving this. Of him getting used to this warmth. Of him craving more. And he _did_ crave more. Even when they were touching. Even when they were right up against one another. He still craved more of the man. And he despised himself deeply for that.

"Bill! Let me go!" He shouted next to the writer's ears, making him flinch and finally open his eyes. He looked around and saw the man’s face so close to his, and quickly drew his hands away from Stan, and finally releasing him from his sweet doom.

He scrambled to his feet as Bill started to rub his eyes to get the sleep out of them, and looked up at Stan with an apologetic gaze. He then opened his mouth but closed it again with a deep sigh. He got out of the bed and stretched as he yawned, cracking his neck and back with a slight frown.

Stan wanted to scold him for doing that. But he couldn't even move a muscle from where he was standing as he just watched Bill do stuff like retrieving his slippers and glasses from where they were placed. There was a tension on the air between them and he hated that.

Bill then stepped towards the door after he was done, only then turning to face Stan, but quickly avoided his gaze when they locked eyes for a second time. He mumbled some things under his breath as he pointed at the open door before he walked out.

The only things Stan managed to understand from that mumbling was: "I should get back to work" and "Sorry about that". Then he was left alone with his thoughts in the author's empty bedroom.

Stan sighed, got out of the room himself and walked right up to the kitchen without even bothering to spare a glance at Bill's closed office door. He didn't know what the fuck happened back then but he wasn't going to try to find out. He knew there was no point in digging deep.

So, he did what he promised to do. He grabbed the ingredients for the coffee Bill had requested and made a latte. He searched for a container to put the liquid in, his eyes catching a glimpse of the only possession of his in this house.

It was his Nightmare Before Christmas mug. He had gotten that from Eddie for Christmas (The man had actually intended to give it to Stan for Hanukkah but when they decided to celebrate both holidays in one day, he had to give it on December 25th.) He loved this mug as much as he had loved the movie.

So, he poured the liquid inside and drank the remaining coffee himself. And he decided that he still didn't like the milky/creamy taste that masked the actual bitterish yet delicious taste of the coffee. As usual.

He slowly stepped back to the office, gently twisted the door knob and peered inside. Bill was working(as expected) and had a very, _very_ deep frown on his face. He normally had a frown on when he was focused on something but this one was distressed more than concentrated.

Stan wanted to kiss that frown right off of his face, to massage his shoulders to get rid of the stiffness of his posture, to compliment him(his writing skills) to boost his determination, to encourage him to help the author with successfully finishing his work. But... He couldn't. He didn't think he had the rights to. Because he didn’t.

He was just a nothing to Bill. And he knew that would remain that way. Always.

Instead of doing what his heart desired, he slowly closed the door again, looking down at the mug in his hands. He couldn't even gather up the courage to actually go inside and give him the coffee that Bill had wanted.

His eyes searched for somewhere that would safely contain the creamy drink, and he ended up placing it on the floor right opposite of the office's door before he silently left the hall, then the house without informing the man about his early absence. He had done all the chores around the house anyway, why would he stick around any longer?

Bill felt like he was getting a tad tired from sitting down so much and he felt his eyes sting and water from looking at the screen for too long. Fuck, wasn't he an old man? He got up from his chair and stretched his arms above his head, furrowing his eyebrows at the absurd silence of the house.

"Stan?" No response.

He stepped towards the door as he chanted the man's name again before he opened it and got stunned right behind the door frame.

There was a massive purple mug that Stan had brought with him to drink his coffee whenever he was at the author's house. And inside there was a light brown liquid that seemed and smelled like the latte that Bill loved so much.

Even though Bill had been an asshole, Stan didn't forget his promise. And on top of that, he had actually made the drink and placed it somewhere the author could easily see. Bill then realised something. No, two things. And maybe three.

One: He didn't fucking deserve someone as thoughtful as Stan.

Two: Simple gestures mattered to the man. He had noticed this in the first few weeks but he hadn't really given much thought into it until now.

Three: _He was completely fucked_. He could still remember how Stan felt against his chest. How his weight felt just right and perfect on top of him. How warm he felt when he was close to him.

It was the same feeling he got when they hugged earlier today. He hadn't said anything about it though, fearing that Stan would hate him. But the way the man's heart pounded right against his own just as fast beating heart… Perhaps he could forgive himself for hoping a little bit, couldn't he?

* * *

Bill's book was a real success. After the author had managed to finish the book in peace(!), it was a real hit and almost everyone that read it loved the story and the way it was written. Until the ending came.

Everyone should've gotten used to these... _Absolute disappointment_ of endings the writer loved to write. To leave his supporters hanging with the absurd cut offs in end of the stories. To kill off characters that didn't deserve to die. But still, the man was _good_. Who would’ve dared to deny his talent? Someone just needed to teach him how to write the endings _right_. Or his fans just needed to get used to the way he chose to write.

But either way, his book was nominated for an award Stan didn't know the name of. He made a mental note to ask the man about it later. But for now, he would enjoy the whiskey that was sent to him as a reward for keeping him boosted up and in full-working condition(Stan had complicated feelings about the purpose of the alcohol).

Well, it wasn't actually sent to but was _handed_ to. Since the man was at the author's house right now, Bill didn't need to do that. They were just in separate rooms for some unknown fucking reason. Stan stood up to walk out of the room he was in to change that.

_Why the fuck did he even go in there in the first place?_ He really couldn’t remember.

"Stupid fucking..." Stan had a headache. And he didn't even know who he was cursing just now. Perhaps he had had too much drink tonight? Stanley didn't know anything. But he was aware of the fact that he had a hole inside of him he couldn't quite fill.

The man didn't understand why but he _wanted something_. And he wanted it so much that it hurt. And that very thing he craved... It was something he couldn't even bring himself to say out loud. Because he fucking refused to admit it. He looked at the author that was unaware of the thoughts that were swirling around Stan's mind as he sat with a newspaper in his hands, his thin-framed glasses sitting on top of the bridge of his nose, eyebrows furrowed slightly with concentration. He wanted that very concentration on _himself_. Not just some stupid piece of paper.

But wanting something this bad when you're intoxicated never ends well now, does it? It has never ended in the favour of the drunk person; probably it never will. And Stan was painfully aware of that. He knew that very well but... His mind was just too fuzzy to prevent himself from doing stupid stuff or even think logically at the moment. And that was why he had moved to Bill's room now; searching for a specific item that he was sure would get the author's full attention on himself instantly.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, turned around every now and then and studied how he looked in the outfit. His arse was almost completely out for the world to see, a piece of clothing(Stan couldn't even bring himself to call it as a skirt, it was just too short) that flew around whenever he turned his body, a tight button up that was attached to the skirt part of the outfit with a red belt that was made of shiny ribbon.

His hands trailed up his body and stopped at his neck and he dragged his fingertips over the red silk ribbon that was tied around his neck loosely. After a while of inspecting the cloth, he decided that he didn’t hate the collar around his neck that much. He could even say that he liked how it felt around his skin, smooth and soft.

He sighed, starting to have a small conflict within himself whether or not he should be doing this before he took a deep breath and reminded himself that _Bill_ was the one who bought this. _He_ didn't need to feel embarrassed to have tried on an outfit. Even if it was a tad too showy for his taste, he knew there were people out there that appreciated stuff like this. He needed to respect that.

So, without giving himself any more time to think this through, he stumbled across the corridor that lead to the living room(/kitchen/hall) and entered it. Bill didn't even spare him a glance, reminding Stan of his desperate motivation.

Stan didn't give the author much attention either, just continuing where he was left off that morning before he got pulled away from work by Beverly to celebrate Ben's proposal(and Bill's new book as well) and drank there. The beer didn't do much to the man but the whiskey Bill had given to him when he went back to the writer's house was very strong. But, fuck, was it tasty as hell. Stan couldn't stop drinking it. And the consequences were... Interesting indeed.

He kept doing whatever he could, and when finally he was close to where Bill was sitting, now wiping the dust off of the statues and candles on the bookshelf he loved a lot-it held a lot of good albums as well as a few CDs-, the author looked up at Stan and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at the scene he had seen before him. Stan was in the fucking slutty maid outfit he had bought for the man a few days ago just to piss him off, dusting the objects on the bookshelf like there was nothing wrong with how he looked at the moment.

_What the fuck?_

He felt his breath hitch in his throat, climbing up and coming out of his mouth as a quiet growl as he glared daggers into the man's back like he was trying to pry those clothes off of the man with his mind that didn't really seem(pretended) to have noticed his staring. His eyes lowered down Stan's body, following the man's figure all the way from his ribbon covered neck to his skirt and his toned, hairy mid-thighs that showed from beneath it. The skirt of the outfit was rolling dangerously up every time Stan moved, threatening to show the man's arse to the entire world.

And in this case, just for William Denbrough's entertainment. And boy; did he like the thought of that.

"Stuh-Stan-What the _hell_ are you wearing?"

He furrowed his eyebrows when he heard his shaky breath and stuttering voice when he spoke, making Stan turn around to face him with a surprisingly flat face(considering he was totally wasted). He rolled his fingers into two tight fists that crumbled up the paper he was reading with a considerably loud noise.

"I'm trying new things, Billy." He shrugged, looking down at his skirt, his flat voice slightly slurred. Bill groaned.

"I bought that fucking thing as a _fucking joke_!" The author threw his hands to the air as he shouted with a desperate tone, the paper broke away from his tight grasp and found its place on the floor with another quiet crumbling noise.

"I know. But it wasn't really fun for me." He scrunched up his nose as he looked down at the outfit and Bill somehow found that quite cute.

"But I felt like wearing it now. So, let me enjoy this for a bit."

"How much did you drink from that whiskey?" Bill raised one of his eyebrows at the way the man literally kept nearly slurring the words out of his mouth. The author somehow found a slightly disturbing amusement in that.

"Are you drunk?" Stan furrowed his eyebrows. This wasn't the kind of attention he wanted. And even though he didn't quite know _what kind_ of attention he wanted, he knew damn well that this was _not_ it. He was irritated.

"No. Fuck off."

Stan huffed, crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the author that had a half-smirk on his face. He felt like he wanted to take advantage of this moment. So, he let the man continue to do whatever the hell he was doing before he was turning Bill on by literally only... Breathing, no, _existing_ in that very outfit. And when he was right in front of Bill, starting to clean the TV stand, he placed his glasses down to the coffee table beside him that had his empty glass of vodka, and called out Stan's name.

"Stan?" No response. "Could you look at me for a second?"

Stan turned around with a deep frown, raising his eyebrows to silently demand that Bill spoke. It was painfully clear that the man was irritated with something. He patted the cushion beside him.

"Come here." Stan shook his head with a slight frown like a toddler before he turned back around and grabbed the piece of clothing he was using to dust off the furniture.

" _Stanley_." The man dropped the cloth from his hand, visibly flinching at the way Bill had called his name. The author had raised his voice a little, his tone now sounded demanding, dominant and completely drained from carrying the playfulness it had from before.

"Do _not_ make me mad. Come here."

Stan obeyed this time, a bubbly but slightly terrified feeling pooled inside his chest. He turned back around to face Bill who was already looking at him like a predator watching its prey; his normally bright blue eyes now had darkened and held the colour of the ocean at night, his pupils blown wide.

He slowly stepped closer to Bill and stood still when he was right before him, not knowing what was being asked from him. Bill saw his hesitant confusion and opened his palm, holding his hand out, moved his fingers to motion Stan to hold his hand. A small smile spread across his lips when he saw the man slowly slide his hand over his open one and held it tightly.

"You're beautiful, you know that right?" Stan was scared. Not of the author's attitude that took a sharp turn in a matter of seconds. He was scared of much he liked _this_ , how much he enjoyed it. This whole thing. Whatever the fuck was happening right fucking now.

"B... Bill..?" Bill didn't say anything and just tightened his grip on Stan's hand for a second.

"...Sir..."

"Clever boy. Come and sit on Daddy's lap. Let Daddy show you what you did to him."

Stan hesitated before stepping apart to spread his legs and pressed his knees on either side of Bill's thighs before slowly lowered himself onto the man's lap, purposefully avoiding touching his crotch area. Finally he understood something. _This_ was what he knew he wanted deep down but he was in a conflict between his brain and instincts.

His brain was screaming at him to safe word the fuck out of the situation, get out of the house and never come back, while his instincts told him to play along and finally get what he wanted. A good fucking sex.

Bill realised just how tense the man was on top of him, he furrowed his eyebrows together with worry, starting to caress the back of his hand before he kissed it tenderly.

"Stan?"

The man didn't answer. Bill placed a few more kisses on top of his lower arm, slowly trailing it up with every kiss he had placed. He stopped when he came right into the crook of his neck, his lips lingering too close to Stan's ribbon covered skin to let the man feel Bill's breath but too far away to actually feel them right against it.

"Say something." Stan still didn't answer. But he did do something.

He slowly dragged his hips against the top of Bill's thighs until he had reached to the bulge there, his own member pressing against the author’s abdomen. And with his hips, his neck moved as well, finally connecting the men's skins in this way after a long time of silently craving. The only thing he said was that muffled, small sound.

"Please..."

Bill thrust his hips against Stan's, making him cry out with pleasure. He placed his hands on his waist, dragged him down to his hard member and grinded on him, using him as his lips moved along the pale skin of Stan's neck, sucking and licking at it harshly, drawing small whines from the man. He grazed his teeth over the red ribbon’s one end, bit at it and dragged it away, watching how it came loose and fell down to the sofa.

"Please what, baby? What do you need?"

He heard himself mumble against Stan's ear, feeling the goose bumps that spread all over the man’s body against Bill's touch. Stan grabbed the back of Bill's head and neck with his shaky hands, and pressed down against the writer's hard-on once again.

"You, sir."

Smiling at the outcome of his actions, Bill tightened the hands he got on Stan's waist and leaned forward; pressing their lips together with so much force and desire that it was nearly a bruising one. His lips held such hunger, such lust, such need that Stan found himself want to cry. But instead of doing that, he leaned against Bill's touch by arching his back and finally starting to kiss the writer back.

Bill pulled away after a while of a very heated and deep making out session just to lean over and whisper into Stan's neck.

"Hold on tight. Daddy's gonna make you fly, baby."

Stan wanted to grimace at the nickname. He really did. But all he could do was to wrinkle his nose just a tad and nod his head weakly before leaning in to wrap his arms around Bill's neck as tight as he could without actually suffocating the author. He felt his stomach flip upside down as the two hands that were located on his waist fell down to his thighs and gripped them, _hard_ , and soon he was being lifted up.

He let out a small yelp of surprise, now definitely feeling the air hit everywhere down there. And if his mind wasn't fuzzy enough until that moment, it was now. Bill carried Stan like he weighted nothing all the while pressing kisses all over his neck and shoulders in the process, making the man in his arms squirm under his lips and tighten his legs around his moving hips.

It was a thrilling feeling. To actually feel Bill's sharp hipbones poke against his inner thighs with every step the man took. To feel his wet lips press against his pulse and all around the skin of his neck, probably marking it with all he got. He wanted more.

Bill grasped his one thigh tighter than the other before his other hand disappeared from his skin, making Stan whine into Bill's ear. The writer clenched his teeth together tightly to hold his own moan back. He didn't remember _ever_ wanting someone this bad.

So, to claim the man in his arms, he yanked the door open, pushing it close with his hips(one of Stan’s thighs). He then turned back to Stan to press a kiss to the back of his ear, took the soft flesh of his earlobe in-between his teeth, tugging on it, drawing a moan from the back of Stan's throat.

"Please..."

Stan felt his head spin, and soon, he was pressed down into the mattress by Bill. He felt drunker then before, his vision was blurring. And maybe that was why he couldn't find any others words to say. It was like his vocabulary knowledge had decreased to only consist "please" because of the author. It was scary. But still fucking thrilling to the top.

And Bill didn't seem like he needed any more pleading. The writer hovered above Stan and pushed his legs apart with one hand as the other grasped his jaw and pulled his face upwards to meet the man's eyes. They were wet with tears, his pupils fully-blown, cheeks dusted with a faint pink. He looked well-fucked already. And the thought of it alone was fucking hot.

He leaned over to his cherry red lips, all swollen and shiny because of _Bill_. Just because of _Bill's_ lips. And they belonged to _Bill_. He would make sure that fact remained that way.

He leaned over to the man more, ghosting over those red lips that Bill had adored so much, making Stan chase them. But his hand on the man's jaw stopped his small motion without it even began, making him whine underneath his body, squeezing his eyes shut.

"What do you want, Stanley?"

Stan opened his eyes once again, brown irises burning with pure desire, digging holes into the writer's eyes, his eyebrows furrowed together slightly. His hands grasped the back of Bill's shirt, his fingernails digging into his skin through the thin fabric.

" _You, Sir. I want you._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love cliffhangers?


	3. What Have I Fucking Done?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You, Sir. I want you."  
> ***  
> Bill nodded to himself and pulled out of the man with a displeased hiss, joining in on Stan's groan. He grabbed Stan’s sides and quickly flipped him over before he spread his legs open. He pushed back inside the man's swollen entrance with bliss and looked up at Stan's face.
> 
> Oh… Oh.
> 
> This angle... This angle was everything Bill could've ever wanted. He could see Stan's teary eyes with the lustful expression darkening them, his pupils blown wide with sheet marks on one of his cheeks, both of them flushed pink.  
> ***  
> “E… Eddie…” He heard shifting form the other side and soon, he heard his voice again. This time it was completely drained from sleep and flooded with worry and horror.
> 
> “Stan? What happened?”
> 
> "Eddie, I… I did something. Something bad. Please come pick me up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stanley's sex aftermath. Please do drink safely everyone, this is no joking matter and should be taken seriously under any circumstances.  
> Enjoy!

The author leaned over Stan more, ghosting his own lips over those red, swollen ones that Bill had adored so much, making Stan chase the touch, and the warmth of them. But he must've forgotten about the hand on his jaw as his small motion got stopped before he could tilt his head upwards even a tad, making Stan let out a small whine underneath Bill's body, squeezing his eyes shut.

Bill wanted to see those teary eyes even more. Forever if possible. Just like how they just were: Full of desire. And all of that was for Bill.

"What do you want, Stanley?"

Stan let his eyes flutter open once again, his darkened brown irises burning with pure lust, digging holes into the author's eyes, his eyebrows slightly furrowed together. His hands grasped the back of Bill's shirt, digging his fingernails into the flesh of his shoulder blades through the thin fabric of his button up.

"You, Sir. I want you."

That was the last hit that Bill could take until his self-control cracked. He attacked Stan's lips again, nearly knocking all the air out of his lungs in the process, making the man's already bruised lips get squished between his own lips and Stan's teeth. That drew a pained groan from him, making Bill pull away only to trail down to his jaw and press kisses all along the line, sucking on the skin every now and then and even marking it with his teeth.

He then trailed down to his neck but it was nearly covered in bruises all over, not much room left for Bill to mark. His hands were roaming all around his body, seeming like he couldn't keep his hands to himself anymore.

All that effort to look like he was uninterested, all that self-training he did to remain calm when Stan was in the same room as him, all that control he had of himself... It was gone in the blink of an eye just from a simple sentence from Stan. The man had that kind of effect on Bill.

And he didn't have any thoughts on stopping now. He had dreamed about doing this ever since their first meeting at the restaurant. The man had to literally grip at his thighs to not pounce at Stan and twist that flat look on the face of his(not in a brutal way, of course) into pure pleasure.

He wanted to make Stan beg, to make him plead, to make him want, to even make him hurt. And then treat him so gently like he deserved. Like the precious man he was.

He pressed his lips right onto Stan's neck dent, his hands working over the buttons of the outfit all the way down to the skirt; his lips followed them close behind, covering every new exposed skin with dark red and purple bruises that would surely take a good few days to fade away completely.

And when he was at the red ribbon belt, he stopped. Examining the outfit's lower part, the writer had only realised that it had a bow on Stan's right hip. And that very bow was the only thing that held everything together as one piece. He wanted to rip that off right then and there, wanting to see all of Stan.

But he held back. Using the last droplets of his self-control, he pressed a hand right over to the man's mark covered chest, drawing his hand up to one of his nipples. They were already erect enough so he didn't have to fiddle with them to do that. He just took the tip between his fingers and rolled it around as his free hand gripped at his waist, his thumb running across his skin, making the man both shudder at the gentleness of it and gasp at the fingers on his nipple at the same time.

"Bill..."

The writer leaned down and bit down onto Stan's collarbone, this time intending to actually break the skin. The first shocks of the skin ripping under Bill's teeth sent a wave of pain down his spine, engulfing the man inside an ocean of pleasure right afterwards as his tongue started to lap at the little amount of blood that had gathered there.

"What do you call me, Stanley?" He moved his hips down so that they were grinding against one another.

"Sir... P-Please..." Bill smirked, his fingers continuing to tease his nipple as his lips dipped down to the other one, sucking on the tip, ripping out deliciously loud noises from Stan.

"Please what, baby?" Stan arched his back, his fingers gripped at the covers, gathering a bunch of sheets in his fists.

"I want you... Please, Sir, I want you so bad." He cried out without even thinking. It’s not like he could think straight at this rate in the first place.

He felt the alcohol in his blood system start to burn him all over as he felt Bill’s hands and mouth all over him, ripping a loud moan from the back of his throat with the tongue that had started to lap at just below his left hipbone now, sucking a dark purple bruise there.

Bill, of course wasn’t going to tease him any longer; he couldn't resist Stan's pleads. Why would he? They both wanted this.

"Turn over. _Now_." The writer's voice was cold, dark, demanding and hoarse with desire. And Stan's intoxicated mind couldn't catch the gentleness that was still somehow hidden between the tone that carried different emotions inside, only noticing it by the gentle rubbing of hands on either side of his waist.

He stepped away and sat down on his heels to give Stan room, watching the man hurry to his knees, looking down at his hands and then down at the sheets like he didn't know where to put them.

Smiling, Bill walked back the step he had taken to sit down onto his knees, pressing his fully clothed front against Stan's half-naked back, his chest completely pressed against the arch of it. He touched his shoulder's, his arms snaked from underneath his armpits and his palms started trailing down Stan's arms until he reached the back of his hands, guiding them down to the bed, making Stan fall down to all fours as he straightened his back.

He gasped at the sudden movement but he quickly adjusted his position on the mattress before he silently waited for Bill to come back. And when he heard the rustling sounds that started to come from behind him, Stan tried to turn his head but Bill's stern voice stopped him.

"If you turn around, I won't give you what you want." Stan whimpered; a needy, displeased whine. Bill caressed the man's waist from behind, pressing his hard-on against the curve of Stan's ass.

"Be a good boy, and wait for Daddy."

Stan nodded, placed his forearms against the soft sheets of the bed and rested his forehead against them. He was eager. He wanted to please Bill; because that was the only way for him to reach his own pleasure.

The writer made a pleased sound at the state Stan was in: ass in the air, legs spread apart, back stretched and tense like a bow, his spine visible with the discs popping out from the silky skin. Fuck, the man was beautiful.

And without wasting any more time, Bill quickly stripped off from his clothes, only remaining in his grey boxers that had a massive, dark stain at the front. It really had been so long since Bill wanted, needed and desired someone as much as he did Stan. His feelings were so intense that they almost started to scare the author. His eyes found the man’s ass and he palmed himself over the damp clothing, shuddering at the friction. But he needed more.

He finally went back to Stan, his hands starting to map the unmarked skin there, making it Bill's lips’ canvas. And in no time, it was covered in hickeys all over, saliva making the red and purple marks shine under the light. Bill felt that whenever he saw Stan, he wanted to leave something on him: To make the man remember Bill everywhere he went.

"Sir, I need you... Please, I-"

Stan pleads got cut off by the hand that palmed the man through his skirt and underwear, making him gasp softly, relief washing over him. Bill smirked against his waist and kissed the most recent teeth marks that he had left just a couple seconds ago, his lips trailing over to the right side of his hips.

"How much do you want me, Stan?" His tone was gentle this time, his lips nipping at the red ribbon bow. Stan felt dizzy, his head spinning, words getting tied on his tongue even before they came out of his mouth. It was like he was drunk in a whole another sense. As Bill waited for Stan's response, he leaned over to his neck, kissing the small of his head.

"A lot!" He gasped the words out when he managed to find his voice again, though his words still sounded slurry.

"I want you so bad, Sir." Stan shuddered, rolling his hips back against the bulge he felt right up against his ass, raising his head from his hands to grab at the sheets.

And Bill must've liked the answer he got since he placed another kiss to the back of his neck that made the man shiver under the touch, feeling the skin there burn with pleasure, sending shock waves down his spine. And his lips never left their contact Stan's sweaty back, trailing it all the way down to his final destination: that fucking ribbon he wanted to yank open so desperately. And now, he got to do that.

He took one of the tips in-between his teeth, slowly pulling the bow loose and finally undoing it just like the first one, watching the skirt fall down onto the mattress, circling the man's knees that were pressed into the bed.

He peeled the button up off his waist as well, threw them onto the floor, reaching over to his nightstand and grabbing the items he needed. Lube and condom. He grabbed the small bottle and placed it next to his thigh, his hands kneading the meat of Stan's ass, drawing out shallow, sharp gasps of shock from the man.

"So good for me baby, so good for Daddy. And now, Daddy's gonna make you feel good."

Stan whimpered at the praise, his broken moan getting cut off by the sudden tugging at his waistband, hissing at the air that came to a direct contact with his arousal after so long of painful patience and waiting, feeling himself throb with anticipation. He was dripping and rock-hard, his tip swollen and red from not being attended to. Bill chuckled, finally wrapped a hand around Stan, making him moan _very_ loudly. And that very moan sounded like the most beautiful ballad to Bill's ears. He wanted to hear more.

So, he started to pump Stan with a loose fist and a lazy pace, clearly not intending to help the man come this quickly. But Stan wasn't satisfied. At all. So, the man rolled his hips into Bill’s hands, trying to feel some friction that would make him relieve just a tad. But when that hand disappeared, the hardness against his ass from before returned before he could complain about the loss.

But that was gone just as quickly as his hand. He pushed his one cheek deep into the mattress before spreading his legs even more, stopping for a while when he felt a sharp pain stab into the muscle of his hips, sighing as it went away with time. He wiggled his ass back and forth, chasing the hardness he could feel just a few moments ago.

Bill seemed happy with the anticipation, finally grabbing the lube and smearing it across his three fingers. He waited for the cold liquid to warm up for a bit, his non-lubed hand grasping one side of Stan's hips and steadying them in mid-air, leaning over to press his lips against his shoulder.

"Are you ready, baby?"

Stan was about to ask what the fuck the writer was talking about but those unsaid words got cut off on his tongue when he felt the sticky pressure against his rim. He let out a shaky, soft gasp, shuddering at the delicious press. He pushed himself backwards to get more of that but Bill's hand that gripped his hip tightly stopped his motions, his tongue clicking right against his ear, making Stan shiver all over, his thighs trembling.

"Be patient, baby. Good boys are patient. You want to be good for me, don't you?" Stan nodded eagerly. He didn't really understand what Bill was saying since the words just went into his one ear and went right out from the other one. But he must've replied correctly since Bill's one finger finally pressed inside, slowly starting to stretch Stan open.

It went in slow, the lube helping easing the pain of having something stretch him inside out. The author’s finger went in and out slowly until Stan couldn't feel the pain. He just wanted more and more. He felt dizzy again.

"M-More, please!"

Bill looked concerned after that, not knowing if Stan could take another without having a lot of time to adjust to the one. He really didn’t think the man had done something like this before. And even though the thought of being Stan’s first, he didn’t want to hurt the man.

But he tried to swallow that hesitation back, pulling his finger out until only the tip was inside, this time pushing two fingers in as the first one returned, stretching the man further and making him let out a pained and muffled moan into the mattress.

Curling his fingers inside, he dragged them over Stan's wet inner walls, pressing further and further with every thrust of his hand, trying to find that spot that would make Stan come undone underneath him. And that loud, sweet, _sweet_ moan he had ripped from Stan informed him that he had found it.

He pushed against that squishy spot over and over again; his hand that was once gripping Stan's hip was now massaging the front of his thigh, trying to ease him into the pain and the stretch. And after more thrusting of those same fingers, Stan wasn't holding his moans back any longer, had already been adjusted to having two fingers inside. And to show that to the writer behind him, he bounced his ass back onto Bill's fingers, meeting his thrusts since he didn't trust his words at all.

"You alright, Stan? Want me to add another one, baby?" Stan nodded into the mattress since he didn’t trust how drained his voice was going to come out, but he couldn't help the sigh that escaped his mouth with the third tip he felt push against his opening, trying to relax his muscles to let it in alongside the other two. But the pain he felt this time was greater.

Even though the author was trying to stretch him as gently as possible, he felt like this was all he could take now. Three fingers felt so full inside of him, the painful stretch of his rim was nearly unbearable. He let out a whimper, making the author look down at his face with worry before stopping the motions of his fingers inside of Stan and gave time the man to adjust.

As he waited for the man, Bill kept massaging the back of Stan’s thigh in hopes to help him relax around his fingers as soothing praises was being whispered against his skin, sweet kisses were being pressed onto his spine. He then slowly started to thrust his three fingers in and out when he felt Stan easing up around his fingers, stretching the man open even further.

Stan could still feel his rim burn slightly but it wasn’t as painful as before. He felt his walls tighten and stretch around Bill's fingers with anticipation, almost trying to allure them even further inside. And the author couldn't help but to watch his fingers as they disappeared into that warm, slick hole, drawing the most maddening noises from Stan.

"Oh, look at you, Stanley... Offering yourself to me like this." He couldn’t help the whisper of admiration spill from his parted lips, watching his beauty with a smile.

Stan moaned; tightened his insides around Bill's fingers and pushed his hips back onto his hand, spreading his legs impossibly further apart, inviting Bill. That made the writer's mouth both run dry and water almost at the same time. He pushed his fingers apart a little to stretch Stan more, making him cry out with a slightly pained pleasure, making Bill want to slap his ass.

And he did, hauled his hand back just a tad and slapped it against one cheek, making Stan's eyes shot open with shock. He brokenly sobbed at the burning contact, shuddering with the shock waves that hit him like a hurricane, feeling his insides flip with an unexpected pleasure. He shakily pushed his ass against Bill's hand again, making the writer's eyebrows raise with surprise. He wasn't expecting a positive response from Stan at all.

"Are you sure? Y-You want more, Stan?"

The man nodded and sighed when Bill started to knead at the bright red patch, soothing the slight throbbing of the skin just a tad. But then the burning sensation came back as Bill slapped his open palm against the same cheek a few more times, making that already bright red spot darken up. And with each slap, Stan let out either a cry or a moan, yet couldn't think of asking Bill to stop. The pleasure was still there but the throbbing, burning numbness of his cheek prevented him to feel the pleasure as much any longer. It was just painful right now. He hated that.

But thankfully Bill stopped and leaned down, stopping the thrusts of his other hand too, his fingers now knuckle-deep inside Stan, he pressed kisses all over the red bruise covering the man's one cheek.

"You're taking it so good, baby. So, so good for Daddy."

He whispered before he slowly dragging his fingers back, leaving Stan's hole gaping and twitching, waiting, seeming eager for the real deal. Bill was quick with his hands now; he ripped open a condom wrapper and easily slid it over himself, grabbing the lube and coating a thick layer of lube over his palm and pumped his arousal a few times.

And without an actual warning, he lined up himself with Stan's stretched entrance and bottomed out in one smooth thrust. Stan screamed Bill’s name with pained pleasure, his hands scrambling around the sheets to grab a hold of them, his back arching like a bow again, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Bill, thankfully, waited a bit for Stan to adjust to this new amount of stretch, slowly pulling out and pushing back in, still speeding up his pace with each slow thrust. And in no time, he was keeping a fast and hard pace as he thrust; making Stan dig his toes into the mattress, no sounds coming from his mouth like he couldn't find his voice once again.

His mind was the dizziest he had ever felt all night and he was overwhelmed with every sensation and movements he felt against and inside his body, pushing his sweaty forehead against the bed, his fists tightening around the sheets they had at tight hold.

Bill had his hands on Stan's waist, his grip hard enough to leave obvious finger marks on the skin along with every other mark he had left onto the man's skin as he pounded into Stan over and over again, letting out loud curses and moans at the tight feeling around him.

It was warm, sticky, surrounding him in a cocoon of pure, undeniable pleasure. It felt amazing; Stan truly took his breath away. He reached over and took a hold of Stan's long-abandoned member. He was dripping with pre, throbbing against his palm with anticipation, seeking attention.

That hand must've given Stan back his ability to make noises since that drew a long, loud gasp along with a hiss from him, the veins in his forehead throbbing because how much he was trying to hold everything in his mouth, not wanting to be too loud. But Bill _wanted_ him to be vocal. He wanted to hear what he was doing to Stan. He wanted to hear just how mad he was driving him. How good he was feeling as Bill made him come undone. He wanted everyone to hear who the man belonged to. He wanted to hear _everything_. Every little noise came from Stan was worth hearing.

"Stanley, baby. I want you to let those noises out. Can you do that?"

With Stan's nod and broken moan afterwards, he sped his pace up even more, slamming into the man at full pace, their moans and the loud slapping skin against skin filling the whole room. The writer one hand trailed down Stan’s hip and grasped the man's thigh before raising it up into the air and held it steady for both of their balances. Stan choked on a moan as Bill's angle changed deliciously with just a spreading of leg, his tip starting to abuse his prostate with every thrust now.

But Stan couldn't stay still; his one thigh that was pressed up into the mattress for dear life was shaking so much under his weight and the pelvis that was slamming against the back of his ass every second, his arms uncontrollably trembling under his chest.

"S-Sir, I'm going to... I’m g-going to fall!" He struggled to get the words out not only because of the state of his mind but because Bill was knocking the air out of his lungs as he slammed into Stan, making the man's abdomen start to burn as his orgasm slowly started to build up inside of him.

Bill nodded to himself and pulled out of the man with a displeased hiss, joining in on Stan's groan. He grabbed Stan’s sides and quickly flipped him over before he spread his legs open. He pushed back inside the man's swollen entrance with bliss and looked up at Stan's face.

Oh… _Oh_.

This angle... This angle was everything Bill could've ever wanted. He could see Stan's teary eyes with the lustful expression darkening them, his pupils blown wide with sheet marks on one of his cheeks, both of them flushed pink.

He cherished the way his hair bounced up and down, his curls now more visible than ever with the sweat making them unruly and messy, his eyelids fluttering with the writer’s every thrust, the way he bit his bottom lip every now and then.

Bill knew there was no way he could last too long after seeing this.

So, he bottomed out and stopped there, leaned over and lied on top of Stan's chest before grabbing his hands and pinned them onto the pillows above his head. He buried his nose into the crook of Stan's neck and inhaled the salty scent of the man, damp with his sweat.

"Can you come untouched, baby?" Stan opened his mouth to answer but only sound that managed to come out was a broken moan as Bill started his thrusts again, immediately going back to his original pace, hammering into Stan.

"Y-Yes, Sir... I can!"

Bill smirked, his one hand let go of Stan's wrist and brushed a strand off of his face, peppering his face with kisses in-between every thrust. Stan wrapped his legs around Bill's waist and screamed with pleasure as the author hit his prostate again and again much easier with this new angle. His free hand held onto Bill's sweaty back before he started to dig his nails into his skin and dragged them across his back. That made Bill moan and arch his back, encouraging Stan to do that again, groaning at the pain he felt all over his left shoulder blade that added to the burning sensation he felt in his abdomen once again, his mouth falling open.

The author kept railing into him until they were both so close to their highs. They weren’t talking anymore; they could only spit out broken moans and loud gasps, both of their minds felt too foggy to think about anything other than the pleasure of being one with each other. They chanted one another's name like a prayer, their hands roaming every territory they could reach.

"S-Stanley, 'm so close, baby." Bill spoke in a rush, steadying himself above Stan to pace up, slamming his hips against the back of Stan’s arse, making Stan choke out a moan as his one hand wrapped around himself.

The author thought about grabbing his hand and pushing it away from himself but he was too on edge to do anything about it. He could feel his orgasm building up inside, ready to blow at any second. And he couldn't hold back any longer when Stan clenched around him as he kept pumped himself as he chanted Bill's name.

He leaned over and captured Stan's lips as he slammed himself into the man one last time, muffling both of their moans as they both came, feeling Stan spill hard between them, warm and wet. Their bodies spasmed against one another as their thighs shook uncontrollably with the force of their orgasm. Both of them felt well-fucked and sleepy as they lazily lied there; Bill limp against Stan's chest, his ear right above his pounding heart.

The man wished that it was because of him for a second, quickly pushing the thought away as he pushed himself up to his arms, looking down at Stan.

His eyes were closed; his chest was starting to rise up and down steadier now, a sound expression on his face. No frown, no wrinkles, no knitted eyebrows. He just had a small smile on his face. He looked in peace and fucking holy. Like an angel. Bill couldn't help the way his heart tightened at the sight. He really wouldn't mind waking up to this every morning for the rest of his life.

He very slowly pulled out not to disturb Stan, pausing when the man stirred ever so slightly, huffing out the breath he didn't realise he was holding in. He went to the bathroom and grabbed a cloth, went back to the room and gently cleaned Stan, his eyes darting between every single bruise and mark that covered nearly every inch of his body, and stopped at his swollen red lips.

He couldn’t fight the urge he felt inside of him as he leaned down and pressed his lips against Stan’s warm, unmoving ones, just cherishing and memorising the way Stan felt against his before pulling back with a sad smile on his face.

He swallowed thickly, as anxiety started to build up inside of him since he didn’t know what would happen in the morning. But now he was too tired to worry about the future and just wanted to enjoy being next to Stan as long as he could.

So, he dropped the damp cloth down and lied down beside him, his arm reached up and trailed towards Stan to pull the man close, almost on instinct, barely being able to contain himself from doing that. But in the end, he stopped and pulled his hand back. He didn't think he had the rights to do that.

His hesitation was funny, if he thought about just what he was doing to Stan until a few minutes ago. And in the end, he turned his back and fell asleep, trying to settle for what he had.

* * *

**(The Next Morning)**

There was a warmth that lingered all over his face. A slightly burning sensation. It was kind of good but it soon started to actually burn his skin. He tried to raise his arm to put it over his eyes and protect his eyes from that feeling, stopping all together with the sting that struck him like a thunder.

The man had the worst fucking headache he had ever experienced in his life. His temples throbbed like a bitch; he could feel every vein in his head burn with pain, his vision was slightly blurry and ears were ringing. Just how much did he drink last night?

He groaned and turned over to his side with furrowed brows, flinched when he felt something hot hit against his face, he was finally aware of the very presence next to him. His eyes shot opened as he straightened his posture to a sitting one in one smooth motion, curling in on himself with the sharp pain he felt inside his head.

"Fuck!"

Stan bit down onto his bottom lip to sustain every other curse that came to the tip of his tongue, threatening the man to slip right out, looking down at the person that lied next to him(magnificently calmer this time, thank you very much), his breath hitching in his throat with the sight he saw. It was Bill.

William Denbrough was lying next to him. Naked.

His terrified gaze then fell down to his lap, and he was only now painfully aware of the fact that he was completely naked as well. In Bill's bed. Both of them fucking naked.

He tried to get out of the bed as quickly and as silent as possible, leaving the blanket on the bed since he really didn’t want to wake the writer up. The bed creaked a little and Stan’s heart tightened with horror as he stilled, his eyes squeezing shut. Even though with the ache he felt the tightness of his eyelids were gone but he still kept his eyes closed, waiting to hear any noises from the writer.

But none came. He was still sleeping, Stan let out the breath he was holding with relief and slowly stepped towards the door with quick but silent steps. He carefully yanked the door open and nearly ran out of the room with massive steps, not really minding being silent any longer now that he was out and away from the source of his problems.

He rushed down the hall and yanked the restroom door open, his eyes quickly darted to the full-view mirror beside the bathtub the moment he was in the room and had flipped the light switch on.

His jaw dropped open at the same time his eyes started to well up as he inspected every single bruise and mark that littered almost every part of his body his eyes darted towards. A feeling of pure terror started to pool up deep inside his guts.

His gaze then lastly darted towards his hips and looked down at the dark red finger marks along with dozens of hickeys all around his thighs and the throbbing aching of his rim cleared everything and erased every hopeful suspicion that was left on the man’s mind.

A silent sob trailed up his throat as the realisation hit him hard. He fell down onto his knees as tears started to stream down his cheeks and down onto his palms and thighs, his shoulder shook violently with every sob Stan choked out.

When he was certain that he could stand up, the man pushed himself up onto his feet and tried to stop his crying by splashing cold water onto his face over and over again. But they never stopped. His sobs were long gone but his tears seemed to never stop streaming down his face. He didn’t know the cause. Perhaps it was stress? Regret? Fury? Fear? Disgust?

He quickly went back to the room with a long string of curses on the tip of his tongue, the fear of finding Bill awake in his room made his heart tighten. But as he looked into the room through the door he had left open and found the man still asleep.

Grabbing his clothes as quickly as possible he ran away from the room and into the living room. He dropped the items in his hands onto the red leather of the sofa and flinched by the memories that came to him. How he felt when he was pressed up against the leather cushions of it.

He gagged with the overwhelming emotions that flooded from both his brain and heart, he sobbed again. He had remembered about the outfit that he had found by the bed. He tried to remember why he had done what he did. Why would he want to wear it?

Another sob escaped his lips when he realised that he couldn’t remember. But he needed to let that go and quickly get the fuck out of the house. He felt like he was trying to escape a dragon’s cave.

He grabbed his underwear and quickly wore it, the slight, throbbing pain he felt inside him intensified for a moment when he bent down too much, making the man’s eyes well up once again. But he just sniffed his nose and wore his trousers next, then his shirt. He thought for a moment, the hem of it in his hands but he scoffed and didn’t bother to tuck it in for the first time in almost nineteen years.

He grabbed his jacket and phone that was waiting for him on the shelves that decorated the hallway, finally got out of the house. He ran to the street and didn’t stop until he was on the opposite side of the road.

He took his phone out from his pocket with shaking hands and dialled his best friend’s number, feeling his lips tremble as he listened the ringing that indicated the call was being made.

With the beep and Eddie’s hoarse voice he let go of the breath he wasn’t sure since when he was holding and took a shaky breath.

“E… Eddie…” He heard shifting form the other side and soon, he heard his voice again. This time it was completely drained from sleep and flooded with worry and horror.

“Stan? What happened?”

"Eddie, I… I did something. Something bad. Please come pick me up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mama Bear to rescue!


	4. I Did Something Bad.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “E-Eddie…” The man’s eyes shot opened when he heard how shaky and drained Stan’s voice sounded.  
> “Stan? What happened?”  
> ***  
> “So, this is where you live, huh? I’m coming for you asshole. Whatever you did to Stan, I won’t let you get away with it.”  
> ***  
> “Who’s that?”  
> “I’m Mike Hanlon. The current manager of this disaster of a comedian.”  
> ***  
> “Let me tell you a story of mine.”  
> “Judging by your tone, I’m guessing it’s not a pleasant one?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning:  
> Henry's typical racism and homophobic slurs  
> Mentioning of rape
> 
> Please do not remain silent if you ever come across someone who had been raped or please do tell someone if you were the target of such inhumane and disgusting act. This is no matter to be taken lightly, and no material to be joked around. This is a very serious matter of human rights violation and is a crime. Contact someone you can trust or reach out to the authorities if you can, and please stay safe.

His nervous gaze darted between the front door of the house and the road before him that haunted him with different methods, making the man feel different emotions all at once. He felt dizzy, like he could faint at any minute. He stepped towards the metal fence of the house behind him and held onto it tightly as his legs started to tremble under his weight.

He was nauseous and still his headache. He could feel the burning of his rim and that didn’t help to make him relax a tad at all. He was on edge and stressed. Taking out his phone, he checked the time when he remembered Eddie promising to be there in ten. He didn’t know what time it was when he made the call, but he could at least check it anyway.

It was 7:38 am now. His eyes hot open as he looked around himself, only now being able to notice just how bright yet cold the sun was. He suddenly felt sorry for waking his friend this early. Because he had been so invested in his own problems, he didn’t even think of looking at the clock before he had dialled his number.

* * *

The man flinched and abruptly woke up from his sleep with the ringing of his phone. He struggled to get his hands off of his husband and pecked his neck before he reached to his nightstand and grabbed his phone.

He sat upright with the caller ID he had seen on the screen and picked the call up, yawning loudly before he greeted his friend.

“Hello.”

“E-Eddie…” The man’s eyes shot opened when he heard how shaky and drained Stan’s voice sounded. He swallowed thickly and shook Richie with one hand as the other put the call to the speakers.

“Stan? What happened?” Richie groaned and yawned beside him before leaning over to the shoulder of his husband that had been shaking his like crazy.

“Eddie-I… I…”

As Stan struggled to speak between his subtle sobs, both the comedian and Eddie were starting to get deeply concerned about him. Richie straightened his posture as the man got out of the bed and started to pace the room.

“Breathe in and out, Stan. Come on, you have to do this with me, okay?” He heard his friend hum into the phone with a shaking voice.

“Okay, now breathe in, hold it, breathe out. In, hold it, out.” They repeated the same breathing technique until Stan was calm enough to be able to speak actual English.

“So, can you tell me what happened?”

“Eddie, I did something. Something bad.” Stan let out another shaky breath as Eddie’s anxiety grew more and more restless. “Can you please come and pick me up?”

“Of course. Where are you?”

With the address he would be going on carved his mind, the man didn’t need to be told twice. He rushed out of the bedroom and went directly to the hallway. He grabbed his keys and a jacket and opened the door.

“How is he?” Eddie leaned in and pecked Richie’s lips quickly, not being bothered by their morning breaths for the first time in ten years of them being together.

“Not good. Something happened to him.” Richie bit his bottom lip before pushing his husband out of the door.

“Go. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Eddie nodded and quickly ran to their car, turned the ignition on and drove away in a hurry. The address he was given would’ve taken him 15-20 minutes if he wasn’t in such a rush. So, he guessed it would be 10 minutes at most.

“Please don’t let him get hurt…”

* * *

The man’s foot was tapping against the pavement as he nibbled down onto his bottom lip, the stress he tried to keep under control started to slowly but surely take over him.  
 _“What if Eddie was lost? What if he had fallen asleep again? What if he just didn’t care?”_

The depressing thoughts just kept coming and coming until he felt all alone. Wrapping his arms around his body, he pressed his entire back to the metal fence and tried not to lose hope. He pushed himself to try and remember anything else from the previous night. He wanted something, anything, to give him just a tad closure. He wanted nothing else.

But all his thoughts were cut short by the car motor he heard in the distance. He forced his head up and listened closely. It was definitely a car engine; and the first one ever since he had started to wait for Eddie’s arrival.

He still squinted at the end of that road and saw the familiar black SUV his friend drove. Relief washed over him, making all the negative thoughts on his mind vanish. A small spread across smile and he stood up straight, trying to stand on his feet despite his shaking legs.

The black vehicle came and stopped right before him. The relief he was feeling reached the max once he saw Eddie through the car window, making his eyes slightly well up. The man stopped the car and threw the door open before he got out with a deep, concerned frown on his face.

A small sob escaped his lips that were pressed together tightly. As his tears started to break loose, he took massive steps towards his best friend and bent his knees before burying his face into his chest as another choked sob escaped his lips. Wrapping his arms around his waist tightly, Stan broke down.

Not fully knowing what had happened the previous night, the confusion and stress of that morning, and the complicated emotions he had been carrying inside started to erupt out of his chest and came out as loud sobs and constant tears. Eddie said nothing. He didn’t ask what was wrong, he didn’t comment on his state, he spoke nothing but reassurance and shushes, trying to put Stan’s mind at ease. He just held the shaking man just as tightly and placed one hand on top of his messy curls, starting to gently pet his hair. He did what he had always done to Richie when he got anxious before stage: He twirled each curl around his fingers and gently pulled them down until they were no longer wrapped around his fingers before combing them, doing the same thing over and over again.

When Stan’s breathing was even, his gaze fell to his friend before trailing up and followed the road until it found the house on the opposite side. He then turned back and looked at the house that stood tall beside them.

“Which one is his house?”

Stan raised his head from Eddie’s chest and straightened his posture before frowning and looking towards the house that was on the opposite side of the road. Eddie chuckled slightly before hugging his best friend again, a feeling of needing to protect Stan washed over him since he looked like a scared toddler who was complaining about the neighbour’s spooky decorations on Halloween.

The man didn’t oppose to the hug and embraced Eddie back, finally feeling the safeness and closure he had been craving the whole morning. He pulled away after a while with a small, worried smile on his face, looking up at Stan.

“Let’s go home. Then we can talk about what happened to you.”

Stan nodded and climbed into the car without waiting for Eddie. The man followed him behind and opened the driver’s door, paused and looked up at the house before climbing in.

_“So, this is where you live, huh? I’m coming for you asshole. Whatever you did to Stan, I won’t let you get away with it.”_

“Were you sleeping when I called you?” Stan asked to break the silence in the car. Eddie hummed as a response as he checked the mirror and changed his lane to pass the slow one before him.

“Did I wake Richie too?”

“Yeah. But Mike was coming today anyway. He was already going to wake up early. Don’t feel bad about it.” He turned to give Stan a reassuring smile but choked on air instead, his eyes shooting open when he saw the marks and bruises all over the man’s neck.

He continued to cough for a whole minute as Stan constantly asked him what was wrong. Eddie held a hand out and took a moment to pull himself together enough to speak up.

“Stan-” He cleared his throat when his voice shook, furrowed his eyebrows with pure fury.

“ _What did that asshole do to you?_ ” 

“What do you mean?” He chuckled nervously, making Eddie point at his neck with a deep scowl.

“I mean _this_. What did he do?” Stan stayed completely frozen and silent for a while, playing with Eddie’s nerves as well as his patience all the while. But he finally spoke and that shut his friend up until they had arrived at their destination.

“I... I think we had… Sex…”

* * *

He still said nothing when they were in front of Richie and Eddie’s house as he got out of the vehicle and helped Stan out. The man looked down at his friend with a sad gaze as he avoided his eyes.

“Eddie…”

“I don’t want to speak.” He gulped. “Because if I do, I’ll visit that fucker sooner than later.”

They slowly walked up to the front door and Eddie knocked on it. Not even a moment later, it swung open and Stan’s face was squished into someone’s chest. Richie tightened his arms when he tried to get away from him.

“Stan, I love you.”

Richie whispered as he squeezed his friend, continuing to whisper words of encourage along with rubs on his shoulder blades and waist. Eddie joined their hug after he had gotten rid of his shoes. Stan’s tears started to fall down his cheeks once again; the man was happy that he had friends like them. He smiled a bit and hugged the two men back and stood still for a bit, just savouring the security he felt with them, and tightened his arms around the men. Richie and Eddie didn’t let go of him either, they just stood still and whispered to get him to calm down, embracing their shaken friend. Stan tried that, to be calm, and slightly raised his head. The man’s gaze met with an unfamiliar pair of browns, making him furrow his eyebrows before wiping his tears. He broke away from his friends and sniffed his nose, pointing at the third man in the room.

“Who’s that?”

“That’s Mikey.” Richie grinned at his grimace as the man stepped closer and offered a hand to Stan.

“I’m Mike Hanlon. The current manager of this disaster of a comedian.” Stan chuckled and shook his hand.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Stan was about to speak again but cut himself off without even saying a word when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder that made him turn around to face a very upset-looking Eddie.

“Let’s talk.”

The moment they got to the kitchen, Eddie started to scold his friend. About how wrong this whole thing was from the beginning; how stupid Stan had been behaving and on and on. And the man knew that his friend just wanted the best for him but… Some of the words he used he really didn’t like them. But he tried to defend himself, nonetheless.

“We were both drunk, Eddie. I’m sure it was a mistake.” Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose before starting to rub it with a deep sigh. He couldn’t believe why his friend was so persistent about defending the asshole.

“ _Yeah_ , a mistake that made you end up-”

“Looking like a fucking treasure map to Atlantis!” The comedian tried to lighten up the mood in his own way. He knew how serious this topic was but if Eddie continued to pester Stan like this, he feared the man might break down again.

“Ye-No, _Richie_.” Eddie sighed again, glared at Richie and turned back to Stan. “You can’t expect me to be satisfied with your answer. You don’t even know what that was for sure.”

“I… I know but-”

"Stan, you can't try and justify what he did to you. No matter in what perspective you look at the situation, what he did was fucking wrong! For fuck's sake! Am I crazy for caring about you and not wanting you to forgive him this easily?"

Eddie said in one breath, Stan took a second to try and process what the fuck Eddie just said. Then, he shook his head, teary eyes looking up at the frowning man before him, then to the other two men that stood behind him.

"I have no intentions of forgiving him. And I'm not trying to justify what _he_ did, Eddie." He swallowed the hiccup that climbed up his throat, wiping his fresh tears that followed the lines of the older ones.

"I'm trying to justify what _I_ did."

“Stan, what are you talk-”

“How could I be that stupid? I’m normally a reasonable person… I just don’t understand how I let him touch me, and kiss me and…”

Richie stepped up with a deep frown, went over to his friend and indulged Stan with his arms, feeling his shoulders start to shake violently.

They stayed like that for a while, Richie holding Stan, Eddie tapping his foot against the floor like a mad man. Mike furrowed his eyebrows as he thought about everything he had heard until now, his eyes darting between the three men occupying the kitchen with him.

“Hey, Eds,” he gave the man a small smile, seeing how tired and worried he looked made him pat his shoulder. “Calm down a bit, yeah? You’re not doing any good to Stan right now.”

“I know, Mikey…” He sighed, shaking his head. “I just want to go to his house and kill the bastard right now. Do you know any good lawyers?”

“No, but I know my law.” Mike winked, pointing at the two men afterwards. “Do you mind switching the partners? I’d like to talk to Stan for a bit.”

* * *

“Would you like a drink?”

Stan flinched by the sudden voice he heard from beside him, the strong smell of Irish coffee then filled his nostrils, making him sigh with content. He smiled up at the man that stood with a glass mug, the cream topping in contrast with the hot cocktail inside.

“I would’ve given you only the whiskey, but I wasn’t sure if you would drink after last night.”

“Thank you.”

He grabbed the mug and sniffed the cocktail once more, slowly closing his eyes as he took a careful sip. He heard a chair being moved near him and opened his eyes to see that Mike had sat down opposite of him with a concerned gaze.

“May I speak to you for a minute?” Stan nodded before placing the mug down.

“Sure.”

“Are you okay?” He asked with a concerned smile, looking into the man’s eyes.

“Honestly?” Stan let out a dry chuckle. “I really don’t know. I’m confused as fuck.”

“Why?” Stan shook his head. He really didn’t want to go in detail about everything that was on his mind. He didn’t even know the guy, and he needed some alone time to think things through.

“Then, let me tell you a story of mine.”

“Judging by your tone, I’m guessing it’s not a pleasant one?” Mike broke into a distressed, forced smile as he shook his head.

“No. Not at all. In fact, it has been haunting me for years.”

**_(Derry, Maine, 1992)_ **

He was pedalling fast. The collar of his Henley was flapping slightly as the wind hit the boy’s face. His eyes darted towards the basket attached to the front of his bike. He started to pedal faster as the raw meat in it wouldn’t last the heat too long. They needed to be refrigerated.

His legs were starting to hurt a tad, but it didn’t mean he didn’t like riding the bicycle. He actually enjoyed the quiet, peaceful journeys he took from his family farm to the town butcher. His parents liked the man, he had been a huge help in the beginning of their business.

He raised his head and looked up at the white/yellow orb that gleamed in the cloudless sky. The sunbeams danced gracefully on his skin, making the hairs on his arm shine a royal gold in a beautiful contrast with the boy’s dark skin. It was a warm feeling that the boy needed to feel these days.

He got to the town and forced himself to go a tad faster until he reached the butcher shop. He carefully leaned the bicycle against a pole in front of the shop and grabbed the meat packets there.

He entered the shop, as he pushed the door open with his back. But as he was stepping in backwards, he tripped over his own foot and fell back into the door. The top of it hit the bell, causing the bell to ding three times, loudly.

The man flinched and snapped his neck towards the entrance of his shop, his worried frown changing into an amused smile when he saw the sheepish looking boy that was sitting on the floor with the packets on his lap.

“Hey, Mike.” The boy smiled up at the man that was coming towards him to help. He offered a hand after he had retrieved the meat and pulled the boy up onto his feet.

“Hey, Joe. Thanks.” The man waved his hand around as he walked to the glass aisle to put the meat in. mike followed him with his eyes before speaking up again.

“So, how are you?”

“I’m fine. How’re your parents?”

“They’re the same.” Joe smirked as he came back towards him and he nudged the boy.

“What about that grumpy older-old man of yours?” Mike broke into a grin.

“Alive n’ well.”

“The lucky bastard. How old is he again?”

They chatted for a while until a customer came and Mike said his goodbyes, waving as he exited the shop. It was a nice day out, maybe he could take a tour around the town before he went back home.

He smiled as he took his bicycle and started to walk around. He passed the arcade, Aladdin, the park and more. As much as he liked riding his bike, he enjoyed walking just as much. He then decided to look around the school lastly and go back home after that. Because he was home-schooled, he didn’t get to see much of the brick building.

He didn’t know it was that decision that turned his nice day into a nightmare.

He arrived at the street that led to the Derry High. The place didn’t have much but Mike liked going there whenever he could. It felt like he bonded with the town more as he saw more of it. And his journey was going completely until he saw something shining underneath the flagpole.

The boy started to step towards that object, his curiosity was peeked. He had a bad feeling about what he was doing at the moment, but he continued and slowly bent down. His eyes widened with terror as he let out a short gasp. That object was a knife.

A pocketknife to be specific. A grisly souvenir from its most recent victim. The blood on the knife nearly made him gag, burning an orange-coloured touch on the red ocean on the metal. He took a step away from it, then two, then three and more until his back collided with something hard yet somehow soft at the same time.

He looked up to see who was behind him and was met with the insanely wide open eyes of a fucking psychopath. It was Patrick Hockstetter. He placed an arm on the boy’s shoulder before snapping his neck back over his shoulders to look back.

“Look what I have for you, Henry.” He forcefully jerked him around and there stood the remaining three members of the Bowers Gang: Henry, Belch and Victor.

“Going somewhere, lil’ fag?” Henry sneered between his teeth. Mike couldn’t find his voice.

“Answer me, fucker!”

Mike started to tremble with fear as the three started to come his way. Patrick’s hand on his shoulder tightened when he tried to take a step back. His eyes darted between the approaching teens and the one that was holding him. If he acted now, it would be one on one, and he would probably gain some time to get away from them.

He took a deep breath in and kneed Patrick’s crotch as hard as he could before climbing onto his bike and started to pedal as fast as he could. The only things he could hear were the loud groans that came from the psychopathic teen and the Henry yelling at other two to get the car.  
Mike had to go back to his home, now.

He kept on pedalling until he was passing by the woods and stopped to take a breather. Big mistake. He placed his bike down to the grass that was just outside of the entrance to the woods that led to the Kenduskeag Stream.

He leaned his back against a tree there and held his legs out, starting to massage his burning muscles. He really shouldn’t have pushed his limits that far, with Henry and his gang on his tail, that could cause a disaster. Well, if they managed to find him of course; and judging by the silence around him, nothing was coming after him after all.

But all his relaxed state and resting was cut off by the faint roaring he heard in the distance. He listened closely as he slowly stood up, looking around him to try and spot the source before it found him. And, to his absolute misfortune, it was a blue car. It was a Pontiac Firebird. The kind Bowers drove around town all day, taunting young men and trying to pick up young women.

He tried to be as subtle as possible when he crawled towards the entrance of the woods, but he didn’t know a pair of blue eyes was watching his every movement like a hawk watching its prey.

“Was he there?” Patrick turned to Henry with a wicked grin, nodding enthusiastically.

“Yep.” Henry grinned back before letting go of the wheel and pumping the gas.

“Take the wheel!”

He pushed his upper body out of the car’s window and shouted at Mike who had been taking slow steps into the woods.

“Where do you think you’re going, bitch? I’ll fucking kill you!”

The teen then went back inside and retrieved the wheel from Patrick and stopped the car, not forgetting to run over the boy’s bike.

“You’re dead meat!”

The four teens got out of the car and ran into the woods, trying to spot the boy they had been going after. And Mike could’ve gotten away from them if he hadn’t stopped for a moment to look back and lock eyes with Patrick, _again_.

“There!”

The chase began. Mike could feel his legs were about to give in at any given second. His steps were wonky, his legs wobbled every now and then, his head ached with an almost unbearable pain. He could hear the other’s footsteps get closer and closer to him with every minute. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to get away from them. And he was right; he could only run to the riverbank before his legs actually gave in and the boy fell down onto the sharp rocks.

“Well, well, well…” Henry spat towards the boy. It didn’t hit him, but it was a close call.

“Look who we have here.”

Mike quickly tried to stand up, but he failed for two reasons. One, his legs were completely useless now. They ached, burned, giving no chance of running away to the boy. Two, Victor and Belch had a strong grip on his arms, not letting him move at all.

Henry walked towards the boy while Patrick chose to stay put. Mike’s terror-filled eyes followed the teen’s steps until he was right before him. He tried to glare as he gathered the last remaining bit of courage he had left.

“Let me go.” Henry took out his knife as a response. There was blood on it. The teen watched the horrified boy play connect the dots and smiled wickedly, pausing when he noticed the gushing small cuts all over his limbs and face, paused for a moment.

“Oh, you’ve already done this part for me?” The teen asked as he pressed onto the deep cut on his forehead. “How sweet. But I’ll be adding my own there anyway.”

He smirked before he pushed the knife against his stomach, but not intending to break the skin. Yet. He grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up to expose his stomach before cutting a long line to his side. Mike tried to scream but Belch’s one hand flew up and muffled his cries.

“What do we do boys?” He looked at his friends as he pointed at Mike’s face that was wrinkled with pain.

“I say we light his hair up like Michael Jackson.” He grinned down at the boy as he flicked his lighter, making Mike’s guts scrunch with a disgusted terror towards the older teen. He had always feared him; there was something… _Completely off_ about him.

“ _No_.” Henry stalked towards Mike who had started to wiggle in-between Victor and Belch, trying to break free of their almost immovable grasp.

“I have better plans for him. Something that’ll teach him to behave like a good bitch and finally get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Town!”

“What are you talking about?” Victor asked, feeling concern rising up inside his chest. Henry turned to him with a sickening smirk.

“ _I’m going to make him my bitch_.” The blond teen’s eyes widened at that. He looked up at his friend, a small frown of absolute concern forming on his face as Belch looked the same too. Only, he hid it better than Victor did. Still, he didn’t want to do what Henry was suggesting. That was just too much.

“Isn’t that a bit too far?”

Henry ignored the two and turned to Patrick who looked neutral for the first time. The tall teen didn’t carry any kinds of emotions on his face as his eyes scanned the trembling boy before him. Henry watched the teen study Mike for a bit before lightly punching him on his side to get him back to Earth.

“Ya in or not?”

The grin they shared was Mike’s answer. He turned towards the two that were holding him in place with a horrified look.

“Please! Please, let me go! Don’t let them do this! Please-”

His pleads got cut off by the hand that had got a hold of a fistful of curly hair and pushed him down to his knees. He motioned Belch and Victor to kneel as well, instructing them to hold Mike tight. The boy kept screaming as Henry shoved him down and he hit his back, his breathing stopped for a few moments when he felt the impact of it in his lungs, making him gasp out with agony.

“Help! Please, somebody help me!” His left cheek hit the rocks again, hard, as Henry’s fist collided with his right cheek. He grasped the boy’s jaw and squeezed, making Mike forcefully face him.

“Are you fucking stupid? No-one will hear you here, faggot!” He threw another punch to his stomach this time, making him try to desperately curl his body inwards to help him endure the pain.

“This is fucking _Derry_! Do you think they’ll care who’s killing who here? Or, in our case, _who’s doing who_.”

His one hand grabbed Mike’s hair again as the other one started to pull his jeans down before motioning Patrick o come and help him out. Mike tried to keep his jeans on by bending his knees and wiggling in their hold, putting up quite the fight.

“Don’t fucking do this, Henry! Please, don’t! I’ll forget today ever happened; I won’t tell your dad! Please, let me go!”

He desperately tried to kick Patrick and Henry away but four against one wasn’t the fairest match of his life. And when he felt Henry pull his jeans down successfully, he knew he was done for. He stopped struggling and gave up.

Those four pair of hands were roaming everywhere around his exposed body, tearing his clothes, squeezing at his skin, two mouths biting down to his flesh to break the skin. One of the worst parts of that unforgivable action was the humiliation. The forced vulnerability. The predatory eyes seeing every inch of his body.

And the other one of them, was the penetration. The pain he had felt was nothing he had ever felt before in his life. How he felt like he was going to tear apart, the burning pain he felt deep inside of him. He wasn’t holding back the screams of agony, but he had no strength left to fight.

So, he endured the whole process of it. Twice.

* * *

“I had to walk all the way back home that day.” He had tears in his eyes as he trembled.

“I was limping the whole way and my backside hurt with every single step I took. I could feel the blood and their… Leaking out of me. I wished that they would’ve just killed me right then and there.”

“Mike…” Stan hugged the man, felt his own tears starting to fall down his cheeks when he heard the man start to sob into his hands that were covering his face.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry you went through that…” Mike sniffed.

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s in the past.” Stan shook his head with a slight frown.

“Of course it matters. You’re a human being that deserved nothing like that. Fuck, I want to kill them all now.” He then turned to Mike from glaring at thin air and tapped his shoulder.

“P-Please tell me you did something about it.”

“W-When I went back home, my family saw my state and asked what happened.” He sniffed and pulled away from Stan.

“At first, I didn’t want to tell them. I didn’t want them to know how weak I was. But after their reassurance, I told them everything. Everything, Stan.”

“What did they do?”

“I was exhausted, so I passed out during that part. But, according to my mum, my dad carried me to my bed and my mum could barely hold my grandfather back from running out to B… Bower’s farm with a shotgun in his hand. She said that he was ready to blow his brains out.” Mike smiled weakly at the memory, wiping his tears with his sleeve.

“In the end, we pressed charges. I can still remember the looks Henry and Patrick gave me as they arrested the bastards.”

Stan hugged him again and held Mike until the man was sure that he was completely calm again. Pulling away, he smiled up at him and patted his shoulder encouragingly.

“You’re not weak, Mike. You’re trying to help me by trusting me and telling me what you’ve been through. That’s real strength.” He smiled at him.

“You’re worth everything you want, Mike. You didn’t deserve what they did to you. I want you to understand that. I might not know you for long, but I can already tell that you’re a great friend and a kind person. I hope you won’t ever live through something like that again. I can’t even imagine how scared you must’ve been.”

Mike smiled back with a small sigh and stood up, patted around his pockets before dipping his hand into one and fished out a square carton packet. Pointing at it, the man raised his eyebrows, silently asking Stan to join him.

“Sure. I can use some fresh air.”

“So, I wasn’t raped, Mike. I was the one who provoked him.” The man seemed unsure of Stan’s answer as he turned to him and looked him up and down.

“But you said you were drunk and remembered nothing but drinking until you were wasted… And his hands all over you.” Mike replied with concern, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah but… I then remembered what I did, Mike.” He shook his head up at the man, tears of fear present in his eyes.

“I liked it. I really liked it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rape Crisis England and Wales: [Free phone]+44(0)808 802 9999 (daily midday to 2.30pm and 7pm to 9.30pm)  
> Rape Crisis Scotland: +44(0)141331 4180 (daily 6pm to midnight)  
> Rape Crisis Nexus Northern: Belfast +44(0)28 9032 6803/Londonderry +44(0)28 7126 0566/Enniskillen +44(0)28 6632 0046  
> Women’s Aid: +44(0)808 2000 247  
> Mankind: +44(0)1823 334244  
> The Survivors Trust(UK-wide national umbrella agency for support for the impact of rape, sexual violence and childhood sexual abuse throughout the UK and Ireland): +44(0)808 801 0818
> 
> I'm not sure how the procedure works for America, but here are some telephone numbers I have found:
> 
> Central Minnesota Sexual Assault Center: (320) 251-4357  
> Campus Security (CSB): 363-5000  
> Life Safety (SJU): 363-2144  
> St. Cloud Hospital Emergency Trauma Center: (320) 255-5656
> 
> Stay safe everyone!


	5. Triple Cross Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t believe Beverly would make you two meet up. I wonder what you told her to make her believe you were actually a decent human being.”  
> ***  
> “I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it, Spaghetti. I just don’t want you going to jail. Or, you know what? Fucking do it. I’ll get new material for my show and get to brag about my husband going to jail for protecting his friend.”  
> ***  
> “Do not speak like you know him well! He’s-”  
> “Sick of having people talk for him.”  
> ***  
> “I’m trying to fucking protect your ass!”  
> ***  
> “Did you actually go to the kitchen and snoop around while we were arguing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to let everyone know that the writing is getting better after a few chapters as I had this written as a draft for a very long time. Do bear with it for just a tad longer and enjoy!

**(09:03)**

The alarm had been going off for three minutes now. The man looked like he had no intentions of waking up or even shifting his position enough to reach over and turn it off. But the sound of the clock was getting annoying. He turned his head to his side, still refusing to open his eyes.

“Stan… Th-Turn that off…”

After a long while of silence (minus the alarm) he finally gave up since it was starting to give him a headache he really didn’t wish to deal then. So, he reached over to turn the clock off and threw his arm to his side, touched the cold empty mattress instead of Stan. He opened his eyes with confusion and saw that it was empty. He quickly sat up straight and looked around the room, hoping to see the man in there with him. A weird feeling pooled up in his guts; he didn’t like how empty and alone he felt without Stan. He felt nauseous and the headache of last night start to slowly show itself, banging against his temples as slight waves of pain.

He tried to stand up and wobbled on his legs for a second before he pulled himself together. He could feel the dryness in his throat as he slowly got out of the bed and immediately went to the bathroom.

“Stan? Stan!” He really didn’t think the man was there with him, in the house any longer.

_Did he regret what they had done? Was Stan angry with him? What would he do if he saw Bill again? Was he disgusted? Had he done something wrong yesterday? Did he hate him?_

All those questions kept spinning and evolving in the man’s mind, making him almost want to gag. But he couldn’t stop thinking and creating newer and more concerning questions with time. And eventually his headache felt like a balloon underneath his cranium that was slowly being inflated, the pressure mounting.

He moved towards the sink and bent over, started to splash cold water on his face just to feel something refreshing and instantly wish he could’ve washed his mind free of the toxins too. He had a fear deep down, the fear of knowing that he might’ve fucked everything up by doing what he had done. The man had been fucking drunk, for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t have consented to shit. Maybe Bill really did fuck up by doing that.

He swallowed thickly and left the bathroom without drying his face. He needed a drink and to take a shower before he called Stan. He was procrastinating and fixing himself at the same time. Procrastinating to avoid being cussed at by Stan and possibly lose the man for good. It was his fault.

When he got to the kitchen and saw the purple mug that belonged to a certain curly-head, his heart clenched uncomfortably, making the author almost gasp out loud.

He opened the fridge and grabbed the bottle, drank until it was completely empty. Still, the thirst he felt from the very back of his throat was there, it was still dry. He drank another bottle, still, to no avail. Abandoning both empty bottles on the kitchen counter, he made his way back to the bathroom. His eyes darted towards his side and saw the mirror from the corner of his eyes. He turned towards there and stepped closer to it. As he stared at his face in the full-length mirror, he felt like shit.

Every single word he had said, every single thing he had done flashed before his eyes. But no matter how hard he tried to make himself regret it, he couldn’t. He just… Couldn’t. He had been wanting Stan for a long time, of course he wouldn’t regret it, but if the man didn’t want to see him any longer, he wasn’t going to say anything. He didn’t have the rights to.

And before it was too late, he wanted to call Stan and apologise. He quickly took a shower and went back to his room to retrieve his phone. He hesitated as he stared at Stan’s number on his phone, but he pressed call anyway, nibbling onto his bottom lip as the phone rang.

* * *

“Yes?” The man answered, his voice cold, irritated and harsh. There was a confused pause on the other side.

“Uh, who am I s-speaking to?”

“That is not important. What more do you want from Stan?” His voice got louder and harsher as he spoke. “Was the other night not enough for you, bastard?”

“N-No, I-uh, I just wanted to apologise…”

“Oh, fuck off, Denbrough.” Bill finally realised who that voice belonged to. If he could convince him, perhaps he could make the man let him speak to Stan even for one moment.

“Richie, please listen to me! It-”

“Who is it?”

The two men spoke at the same time; and the comedian decided to acknowledge his husband first and showed the caller ID on Stan’s phone to him. Eddie’s eyebrows immediately knitted together as a deep scowl formed on his face. Even the silent mention of the man was enough to make his blood boil with rage. He opened his palm and grabbed the phone from Richie before putting it against his ear.

“Listen asshole, Stan doesn’t want anything to do with you. What you did to him was fucking wrong! _He was drunk!_ What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Sir, I really want to-” Eddie furiously shook his head despite knowing full well the man couldn’t see him.

“I can’t believe Beverly would make you two meet up. I wonder what you told her to make her believe you were actually a decent human being.”

“I just want to talk with, Stan. P-Please!”

“Tough luck, buddy. And I’m serious when I say this, if you try and reach to Stan again, I’ll personally come to your house and make you regret everything you’ve done to my friend.” Eddie got even more pissed off when the other side was silent.

“Do you understand me?”

“…Yes.”

Eddie hung up. He paced around the room a few times just like he did whenever he was stressed and was thinking something. Richie didn’t say anything and just watched him walk back and forth. And finally, he stopped and looked down at the comedian that was sitting on the bed with a concerned and as angry expression on his face.

“What should we do?”

“About?” Eddie sighed as he sat down beside Richie. “About Stan or about the asshole of a writer?”

“I think we should tell Beverly that her friend isn’t who she thinks he is.” Richie was sceptical. A small part of him actually wanted to hear what Bill had to say but his shock and fury was masking the curiosity.

“Let’s ask Stan first. He might not like the idea.” They stood up with deep frowns on their faces and stepped towards the door until Eddie stopped Richie.

“I hope you know that nothing he has to say will change my mind about telling her.” A small smile formed on his lips.

“I know.”

“I’m not sure about this, Eddie.” Stan said as he tapped his foot against the floor, nibbling onto his bottom lip with a concerned look on his face.

“I mean, I know she has the rights to know about something like this, but…” He subtly looked at Mike, silently praying to whichever god listening that he would get the message and try to save him from telling what he had said to Mike to them this early. He knew what he wanted, he just needed some time to wrap things around his head and confront Bill himself. He wasn’t a baby that needed someone’s (Eddie’s) care 24/7. 

“Eddie, shouldn’t we wait just a bit? I mean, that decision should be up to Stan.” The man gave Mike a grateful look, but Eddie wasn’t having any of it.

“Not when he’s in this state, Mike." The man sighed before placing a hand on his shoulder to give him a squeeze. "I hear you man, I really do. But he can’t tell the difference between what’s right to do and what’s not. I’m telling her; whether you like it or not, Stan. This is for your own sake.”

“Eds-”

And, just like that, he was gone. It took everything in Stan’s power to not cry because of the stress he was feeling upon his shoulders. Richie went over to his friend and embraced the shaking man. Stan couldn’t find the strength in him to even try to push the comedian away.

“He loves you, you know that right?” Richie tried comforting him. “He’s just trying to protect you. You didn’t want what he did-”

“No, Richie-” He sighed before pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes, a determined look on his face. “I… I wanted it.”

“What?” Stan nodded.

“ _I wanted him_. That’s why I let him do that. I get your point about me being drunk, but… I was the one who wanted us to have sex in the first place. That’s why I had complicated feelings this morning. I didn’t know if he’d be happy about it the next day or not…”

“Stan-” Mike cut him off with an apologetic but happy smile as he waved at the two men.

“Rich, I’m leaving, okay? Sunny is waiting for me.” Stan curiously looked up at the man who was talking on his phone.

“Who’s that?” Mike gave him a wide, bright grin.

“She’s my daughter.” Stan smiled back and watched the man walk out of the house, still on his phone.

“It’s good to see someone who’s happy around.”

* * *

Bill hadn’t moved from the sofa ever since the phone call he had with Richie and that frowning man from before, he guessed. He wasn’t happy about the way neither of them let him talk and he got it. But he still needed to talk with Stan, to apologise, and to beg him to come back. They had a lot to talk about and yet so many people between them. The aching of his heart got bigger and worse as he thought about not getting to talk with Stan ever again. But he knew he needed to hold onto his hope. It was going to be hard, but he was going to do it for Stan.

He stood up and went into the kitchen and made himself breakfast to distract himself for a while. He was planning on calling Stan again later; he was hoping that he would catch Stan instead of that man. He ate and did some chores around the house until his phone rang. His heart dropped to his stomach as he ran to the ringing device, a smile spread across his face as he thought about it being Stan. But… It was someone entirely different than the man he-

“Hello?”

“Bill! How are you doing?” A woman’s chirpy voice filled his ears, making him smile a tad instantly.

“Not very well. How have you and Ben been doing?”

“We’re fine but what happened to you?” For a split second, her tone sounded angry. But Bill thought nothing of it and kept talking.

“Something happened yesterday.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Well, nuh-not really-”

“You should come over this noon. We have something to talk about with you. Ben and I.” No, he didn’t imagine things. She did sound a tad irritated, even angry.

“A-Are you okay?”

“No.” She said, this time not hiding the anger in her voice. “You’ll come here at three. If you ditch us, I’ll come and find you myself.”

“Bev-”

The phone hung up in his face, twice now, since that morning. He knew something was going on, but he could only get ready and wait for the time he should be going out to get to their house at three. He had a bad feeling inside his guts, but he still knew that Beverly was dead serious about everything she had ever said. The woman was scary when she was angry. And that was enough for the writer to not cross his promise.

And when the time had come, Bill grabbed his keys, phone and wallet, looking around one last time; he got out of the house. He went towards his car and got in and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. He really didn’t want to go. He knew that her anger had something to do with that man and Stan.

But he knew if he were to be late, things wouldn’t end the best for the writer. So, he turned the ignition on and started the car, drove away.  
The car ride was awkward and uncomfortable for the first part of it. It was too quiet for his liking and gave almost too much time to Bill for him to think about everything that has happened to him and his feelings.

He reached over and turned the radio on, thinking maybe some music could take his mind away from things. And those ‘things’ was the infamous Stanley Uris himself.

_“-_ _in love with you?  
Like a river flows,  
Surely to the sea.  
Darling, so it goes  
Some things are meant to be.  
Take my hand; take my whole life-_ _”_

He was taken aback by the soft notes of a piano and the half sentence he had heard; he listened closely and tried to make out what song it was. When he realised what he was listening to, he quickly turned it off with wide eyes, hating himself for the way his heart started to beat fast. _What the fuck?_ And now thanks to Elvis Presley, the one he wanted to distract himself from was the only thing on his mind. And, of course, the rest of the song.

“F-Fuh-For fuck’s sake… Are you kidding me?” He sighed and completed his journey in pure silence.

He got to his friends’ house rather quickly. He cautiously got out of his car and slowly stepped towards the front door. He took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. The door opened rather quickly and suddenly, revealing a furious-looking redhead behind it.

She looked down at her wristwatch and turned back to Bill to tut at the man.

“You’re six minutes late.”

“Suh-Sorr-”

“Come here.”

She grabbed his forearm and dragged him inside, to the living room where Ben waited on an armchair, his front facing the window that had a rather beautiful view of the city. Then the man turned to him slowly before standing up from the armchair, his phone in his hands. He slowly approached Beverly and Bill; the woman let go of him to go over to the architect. Bill took a good look at his face then and Ben looked actually mad. That gentleness that was always present on his face was completely gone and he was looking at Bill with a deep scowl.

“Is it true, Bill?” Beverly looked more disappointed than angry.

“What?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” She shook her head. “I especially told you not to touch him. I _asked_ you not to touch my friend!”

Bill didn’t answer. What could he even say? And even though one part of his silence was because of not knowing what would be appropriate, the other part of the frustration that no-one was willing to hear him out. Stan was in this with him and hearing everyone else’s opinions besides the man he had cared the most was not doing wonders to him.

“I trusted you.” Beverly spat on his face before she punched his cheek. “I didn’t send him to you just so you can take advantage of his drunken state, you pig!”

Bill grimaced with both pain and he punches him in the face again before punching his stomach. As she raised his fist again, Ben stepped up and held it gently, shaking his head. He then looked at him, an emotion flashed in his eyes; but it disappeared the moment Bill saw it.

“Get the fuck out of my house, Denbrough. I don’t want to see you again.” Ben then said, awfully and disturbingly calmly as he stood next to Bev with the same scowl from before, glaring down at Bill.

He silently stood up and looked at the pair before him with a disapproving frown. He fixed his outfit and wiped the woman’s spit on his face.

“You know, I really hate it when people only think about their feelings. How they feel, how they reacted to the situation. All morning, I’ve been hearing nothing but threats and how much of an asshole I am. But nobody fucking stops and asks what the fuck really happened.”

“Bill-”

“That’s Denbrough for you.” He said, coldly, glaring up at the man. “And _you_ ,” he turned back to Beverly.

“I’ve been trying to talk to Stan to fucking _apologise_! Everyone has been telling me how wrong I was, and which insults define me the best.” He shook his head with frustration, crossing his arms over his chest.

“But not _one_ person bothered to stop and gave me a chance to make things right. I tried calling Stan, I was faced with a man I don’t even know threaten me to come find me if I tried reaching Stan again.” He started to pace back and forth.

“When you called me here, I knew what you’d ask; well, I _thought_ I knew what you’d _ask_. But _even you two_ didn’t listen.”

“Bill, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve heard enough today.” He turned back before turning to look at Ben one last time. “And don’t worry, Hanscom. You will not be seeing much of me anymore. Take care.”

He got out of the house and ran to his car. Leaning against the hood of the car and exhaled. He really, really needed to talk to Stan very soon. This couldn’t go like this any longer.

_Maybe he was the one who told them you did something wrong?_  
Maybe he actually thinks you’ve done something wrong?  
You’re fucked.

Bill shook his head and got into the car, slamming the door behind him. He needed to talk to Stan.

* * *

**(21:08)**

“O-Okay… Okay.”

Bill took deep breaths, looking down at the contact that was showing on the phone’s screen. It should be in Stan’s hands now, right? A part of him deep down suspected that it might not be the case, but he still did call Stan, his heart pounding out of his chest. He felt his heart stop as the phone got picked up. He excitedly held the phone to his ear.

“Stan, I’ve-”

“Denbrough, I thought we had an agreement.” His smile immediately froze on his face before changing into a scowl.

“ _Yeah_. So, I want to speak to Stan.” He heard shuffling and more noises from the background before he heard those last two words from the man.

“You’re dead.” The phone got hung up in Bill’s face. He lowered his hand and looked down at its black screen with shock.

“Are you fucking kidding me? For the third time? That’s fucking beyond rude!”

“You’re dead.” Eddie said with a flat voice as he entered the living room. Stan and Richie stood up immediately when they heard those words from him and started to question him as the man hung up.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Eddie, what the fuck?”

Stan and Richie spoke at the same time, looked at one another before looking back down at Eddie that still carried Stan’s phone. The man saw it and glared at his friend before snatching it away from him. Eddie tried to argue but Stan didn’t have the patience left to listen to his arguments.

“Please answer Richie’s question.”

“Out.” Richie stepped closer and hugged his husband.

“Could you specify, baby?”

“I’m going to _his_ house. To talk about stuff.” Stan’s horrified gaze lingered on the man like he was trying to deduce if he was being serious or not.

“Dude, he can sue you for assault! Do you know how ridiculous you’re being?”

“Eds, baby, don’t do this now.”

“Richie, even you are-” Richie shook his head to cut him off.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it, Spaghetti. I just don’t want you going to jail.” He thought about something for a bit before simply shrugging and grabbing Stan’s shoulder. “Or, you know what? Fucking do it. I’ll get new material for my show and get to brag about my husband going to jail for protecting his friend.”

“Richie-”

“Stan.”

Eddie got out of Richie’s grasp and ran out of the house without giving Stan enough time to stop him. The man huffed and glared up at the comedian. Richie sighed, his eyes darting between the front door and Stan. He let go of his façade as he actually looked down at the man with a concerned look in his eyes.

“I used to like that man. I really did. And I want to hear his alibi, I really do. But, now is just too early for that. We’re angry, and I think we have the rights to be. Plus, Eddie _did_ actually warn Bill about going there and confronting him if he tried calling you again.”

“You can’t be fucking serious.” Stan’s eyes widened. “Richie, your husband, who has fucking _anger issues_ , is going to some dude’s house at night. What do you think will happen?”

“He’ll sue him?”

“And he’ll win.” Stan rolled his eyes. “And what will happen when he wins? You won’t fucking see him! Now, stop being such a fucking dumbass and drive us there!”

“I don’t know where we’re go-”

“I know the place. Fucking move!”

* * *

Stan was bouncing his legs up and down as Richie drove as fast as he legally could, stealing a glance at his friend every now and then. He could tell how tense and concerned he was feeling. He wasn’t going to lie, whenever Eddie got possessive of his family and friends, things barely ended well for the other party. Eddie might seem harmless at first glance but the man was a ball of fury. He had so much anger and repressed rebel in him from childhood. As an adult, controlling that was a tad easier but it was still bad enough. Whenever the man found a way to lash out, he took it. Quite mercilessly as well.

“Do you think…” Stan bit down onto his bottom lip.

“Do I think he’s okay?” He shook his head with a nervous smile. “No. But we can have hope since we weren’t that late to go out after him. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to pray that he actually is okay.” Stan raised an eyebrow at him.

“Richie, you never pray.”

“Well, this might be the time I did for our novelist friend.”

“Might be.”

Stan described the way and they arrived there, and, to their horror, a black SUV was parked in front of it with the front door open. The man jumped out of the car and ran to the house without waiting for Richie to park it. He needed to get there before Eddie did something he would regret later. He was mostly reasonable, but certainly not when he was angry. As he got closer to the house, he could hear the dialogue they were having. Eddie sounded calmer than he was expecting; which was a fucking miracle alone.

“I hope you do realise that I never actually got to talk to Stanley myself.” Bill tried to reason. He didn’t actually expect some dude to bang on his front door and immediately try to punch him the moment he opened the door.

“That’s fucking normal-”

“Because of people that are constantly getting on my way to ‘protect’ him. Did he tell you what he thought? Or, I’m sure he did, he’s Stan. Did you listen to him?” Eddie glared at the man. He could feel his blood boil and he swung a punch right into his stomach, making him cry out with pain as he bent over.

“W-What the fuck-”

“Do not speak like you know him well! He’s-” His angered words got cut off by the voice of someone they didn’t expect to hear that night.

“Sick of having people talk for him.”

Bill stared up at the curly-haired man that stood tall behind Eddie like he was an angel coming to save him. Eddie turned around and glared at Stan that had moved before him to help Bill up. The author gladly took his hand and let the man help himself up but didn’t let his hand go.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t h-” H cut himself off with the warm smile Stan had given him at that moment, he looked at his face with wide eyes.

“We’ll have this conversation later, Bill.” He turned back to Eddie. “Now I have someone I’d like to talk to. Eddie what t-”

“So, how many people did my husband kill exactly?” Richie walked in as he spoke loudly, cutting Stan off as well as making Bill look back at the open door with a concerned look, trying to see if he would have any more unexpected visitors that night.

“The parade ended, Big Bill. Worry not my child.” Richie shut the door and went inside to Eddie’s side.

“So, anyone want to explain what the fuck everyone is doing in my house?” Richie walked away to look around the house when things got serious once again. He really didn’t want to get involved in another person’s personal life whether it was his friend or not. He didn’t really approve of Eddie doing it too, but he just didn’t say anything since he knew the man’s intentions were well-natured but just wrongly reflected.

Stan stepped up between Eddie and Bill, looking back at Bill with an apologetic gaze before he looked back at his fuming friend that looked like if he glared any harder, his brows would unite.

“I’m trying to fucking protect your ass!” He stepped up and tried to push past Stan. The man didn’t budge and kept on glaring down at him until he gave up the struggling and took a few steps back.

“Eddie! Listen to me for one fucking second! I appreciate you trying to protect me but I’m a grown man. I can make my own decisions. Just like Bill here said, you didn’t let me say what I thought of the situation.” Eddie’s eyes widened as he realised where his words were going.

“No, you fucking can’t, Stan! Do you even hear what you’re saying?” Stan was confused as well as Bill who looked like he would’ve rather to be anywhere but in the middle of their arguing now.

“What?”

“You want to continue? He _used_ _you_ , you fucking idiot! He took advantage of you!” Bill opened his mouth to argue until the comedian spoke up out of nowhere.

“Yeah… I personally wouldn’t phrase it like Eds did, but I agree. I don’t think you’re thinking straight.” Richie peeked from over the kitchen island, making three men look at him with glares until he shrugged and got back to looking around.

“I am aware of what I’m saying, okay? I don’t need you two to baby me. I thought about it, and I decided to keep it up.”

“Why?”

Stan didn’t answer. How can you answer a question you don’t want to acknowledge the response to? Stan refused to accept the reality lingered inside of him and went for the half-true one. He needed the money. Because he was using Bill as well. _Yeah_. He was using the man to feed himself and that’s what he was going to acknowledge until the last second.

“Drink?”

Richie had come to rescue the three men from their awkward silence. Stan was the only one who noticed what he was doing and smiled at him. Richie winked at him and looked back at the two men that mirrored each other with crossed arms and slightly confused, slightly amused faces.

“Did you actually go to the kitchen and snoop around while we were arguing?” Bill asked with a huff that indicated he couldn’t believe the comedian.

“…Yeah...?” Richie raised his eyebrows as he took a sip from his beer. “Problem?” He really didn't have anything to say to that. He felt tired to the point his brain couldn't come up with a logical response.

“You know what, _fine_. I’ll take a beer. Anyone else?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years everyone!


	6. I’ll Be Here Whenever You’re Ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter has a lot of time stamps and that might piss you off a tad, but please do keep in mind that this chapter is a filler one for the story to progress forward.  
> Enjoy!

The four men had a semi-awkward but still kind of bearable conversation for two hours for the sake of not leaving Stan here with Bill all alone. The man had things to talk about with Bill; they both knew that but still… They weren’t sure whether they could trust the author with him again or not. He had a lot of people he needed to regain trust of. And he would slowly but surely do. But the first one on the list was Stanley.

“So, Stan the Man,” Richie said as he placed his empty beer can (his sixth) on the table and yawned loudly. “I think we should hit the hay.”

Stan’s eyes darted to Bill’s face for a split moment before he turned back to his two friends that were clearly getting ready to leave the house at last. He decided to play dumb for now and smiled as he nodded his head.

“That’s great. I wanted to discuss things with Bill anyway. _In private_.” He added before anyone found the time to butt in.

“Stan, we-”

“Eddie.” Stan sighed as he stepped towards his friend. “I have my phone on me. I have proof on my body. And I am perfectly capable of calling the police any time.”

“Hear that Redhead?”

Bill looked around with the accusing tone directed to him, confused for a moment, before it occurred that Stan had just both tried to comfort Eddie and threatened himself at the same time. He was a tad hurt, but who was to blame the man?

“Y-Yeah… I did.” Eddie looked down at him with a wary expression on his face.

“Good.” Eddie nodded, but turned back to Stan, meaning what he had to say wasn’t quite over. “If he tries to touch you in a funny way, run away. Please sit close to the door and if he goes somewhere, keep your eyes on him at all times.”

“Okay!” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with distress. He didn’t like the way Eddie was talking about Bill.

“Fucking okay!”

“And you know you can just call us, right?” Richie added with a genuinely concerned face. He was trying not to show it, but he was extremely worried about his friend, and leaving him here alone. He didn’t like where this might go.

“We’ll come back in a few minutes the moment you call us.” He rambled out with a too wide grin that almost looked too painful to carry.

“Hell, we can even wait for you outside, huh? How does that sound?”

“Yeah… No! Just, get the fuck out before you actually hurt him. What you’re saying isn’t fucking fair. I still didn’t have the time to sit down and properly talk with him and you keep spitting nonsense non-stop all this time!”

_What? Why is he defending me?_ Bill furrowed his eyebrows as he watched the three men interact.

“Stan-”

“Shut the fuck up already!”

He shook his head with a scowl and started to push his friends to the door despite how much they resisted and tried to talk him out of his ‘stupid idea’. Stan wasn’t having any of that. Not tonight.

He opened the front door and pointed out, to both men’s car. Richie shook his head and checked his keys before letting out a sigh and fished something out from the back pocket of his jeans. He opened his palm and held it out for Stan.

“Even though you’re being a lil’ bitch, I still won’t leave you here.” Stan tried talking but the comedian shushed him before he could get any words out.

“You leave when you’re ready. Talk all it out nice and long.” He let out a dry chuckle. “We were overreacting a bit back then.”

“Yeah, we’re sorry about that.” Eddie scratched the back of his neck; his eyes found a focus over the man’s shoulder before he stepped up and hugged Stan. He hugged back and finally took Richie’s keys with an apologetic smile.

“Don’t think I’m buying you guys’ strategy of trying to steal my alone time.” He joked before pushing them out one last time.

“Go.”

He shook his head and watched them climb onto Eddie’s car. He couldn’t help the snort he let out when he saw Richie forcefully push his upper body out of the window as his husband screamed at him to stop and pointed at his phone then to himself, mouthing: “Call me maybe”.

“Your friends are very protective of you, I’m guessing?” Stan flinched by the sudden low voice behind him and turned back to see a frowning Bill Denbrough. He decided frown wasn’t the best for the author to have on his face. He wanted to see him smile, not look hurt like _this_.

“Y… Yeah, I guess…”

Stan chuckled awkwardly and studied Bill for the first time he had been there. Bill returned the long-lasting gaze. The door was still open; neither cared nor even noticed that. They were almost lost inside one another’s gazes.

The man noticed that his signature, tidy quiff was nowhere to be seen. His hair was down, a few strands dangerous close to going into his eyes. Oh, and his eyes. The white of them were appeared reddish pink. The puffy skin around his eyes was accompanied by dark circles. He looked completely fatigued, run-down.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” The author lied, trying his best to give him a reassuring, warm smile. But he was thinking why Stan would worry about him at a time like this, so it was painfully obvious that it was forced. Stan grimaced.

“Yeah. _Sure_.”

Bill snorted and looked up at Stan’s face, a real, still small smile present on his face. He looked as tired as he felt himself. The shine of his eyes was long gone, with slight circles decorating under his eyes. His curls looked messy, he felt a strong urge to reach up and touch them. His fingers even twitched. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“May I take you home? I know you have a ride here and all, but-”

“I guess you finally had had enough of me, huh? Want me out of your ho-”

The man couldn’t finish his words because of the warm, chapped lips that had just covered his own. His eyes widened as Bill started to kiss him gently. Stan almost gave in. he had remembered how they felt against his own. How soft they used to be. How intoxicating they still were.

But he needed to stop this. They couldn’t do this. Not yet. They had a lot to take in, a lot to talk about. Stan wanted to know if they were on the same page before they progressed any further.

“Bill…” He whispered into the author’s mouth as he placed his hands on his chest, starting to slowly put pressure onto it to move the man.

His eyes shot open like he had just awoken from a trance and he quickly stepped away from Stan, disconnecting their lips in the process. Stan hated himself for hating the loss of contact. Bill opened his mouth, then closed it again, then opened once more. Nothing came out. At first.

His eyes welled up and he turned his back before Stan couldn’t process what he had just seen on his cheeks.

“I-I’m s-suh-so… I’m s-sorry, Stan… I…”

“Bill-”

“Uh-I fuh-fucked up s-suh-so hard.” He hiccupped, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry. You should go. I’m afraid I might do suh-something more than k-kissing you. Just… Go.”

Stan felt tears welling up in his eyes as he listened to Bill ramble and stutter on his words, a true bitch of an aching in his heart. He didn’t deserve this. He never deserved this. This was on Stan, the reason he was in this state was his fault. And he needed to take responsibility. He couldn’t stay silent any longer. He didn’t have the luxury or the rights.

“I… It’s okay. Just, not yet. Don’t touch me yet.” Bill turned back to face Stan once more, his teary eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“But, I-”

“Bill, it’s okay. I’m okay. Alright?” He gave the author a warm smile and Bill sniffed, not quite believing Stan at all.

“Y-Yeah… I’m so sorry. Again.”

“Forget it. How about you give me the ride from before, okay? I can come and get Richie’s car sometime later.”

“Let me get my keys.”

The man stepped outside and took a deep breath, the cold night air burned his nostrils a tad. It was a pleasant feeling, being out in the cold. It made Stan feel alive. The shudder that ran down his spine, the goose bumps he felt all over his arms and legs. Being able to see yourself breathe. It definitely made him alive.

“Are you ready?”

He turned back and saw Bill locking his door. He nodded when he turned his way and tilted his head to his side. He was a handsome man.

His heart fluttered when he opened the door for Stan and was careful not to touch the man the whole time. He didn’t actually have a problem with Bill touching him, he just wanted to test the author. To see if he would stay true to his word. And so far, it was going well. Stan had hope.

After a while of giving directions and two wrong turns, they were in front of Stan’s apartment. He took a deep breath and opened the door, but he never spared a glance towards Bill’s way.

He just thanked him, shut the door, and walked inside without turning back. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the guilt that he felt eating at his soul, maybe the painfully fast beating of his heart. He didn’t know. And another thing he didn’t know was that, Bill was devastated.

The author watched him go with teary eyes and a blurry vision. He wanted to call out to the man, to beg him to stay a tad longer, maybe even let him kiss Stan one last time. But he didn’t dare say any of those things. He didn’t even dare to breathe until Stan was out of sight. He swallowed every single plead he had rolling on the tip of his tongue and drove away. He wanted to stop by a bar, get wasted, and perhaps even find someone to fuck for the night. But he couldn’t bring himself to do any of that. He just wanted to go home and ‘hit the hay’ as Richie had said earlier.

When he got home, he silently got out and unlocked the door. Pushing it open, he stood there, not moving or doing anything. He just stared at the dark hallway and the back of the red leather sofa. The house felt empty, even abandoned. It was cold, and alone.

_Had he always been this miserable? Had he always been this clingy?_

He couldn’t help the long, deep sigh that had escaped from his mouth as he stepped inside and turned the light on. He quickly went into the living room and threw himself on the sofa. The leather was cold and kind of uncomfortable, but he didn’t feel like sleeping in his bed.

He searched around his pockets for his phone and took it out to set an alarm for tomorrow and saw the notification light was going on and off. Narrowing his eyes, he sat up straight and unlocked the device and his heart leapt up to his throat when he saw the sender.

With his heartbeats ringing and pounding inside his chest and ears, he opened the message and saw that it was sent twenty minutes ago. Did Stan send that first thing when he was up in his flat?

‘Stan (Stanley)  
Received at 11:36  
If you come to the address I’ll be sending you in a few weeks, I want us to have a good conversation about what had happened between us. And what we want it to be.’

* * *

(2 Weeks Later)

Stan was feeling excited to open the café that morning in a long time. Everything had been almost mundane in the last two weeks for him, everything had become too repetitive. He was coming to work, cleaning the tables, dusting the coffee machines and the work area. But today felt different, even though he was to do the everyday stuff now as well. But he felt almost happy. He even had a subtle but permanent smile on his face as he grinded the coffee beans for the day.

He would be seeing Bill that day for the first time after their absurd separation. The man’s fingers almost ached to call him, to message him, or even search him on the internet. He sighed and looked down at his work. It looked a bit too much for the day, they didn’t have that much customers in the morning which was the shift he was covering.

He decided to just bag some of them and put them on the counter to display them as a ‘special deal of the day’. They didn’t have much of those since they displayed stuff only on holidays. He shrugged; that could change for a day. Going to the back room, he grabbed his uniform and changed into them, went to the front door to finally open the café to business. Placing a small smile onto his face, he started to wait for his first wave of customers for the day.

(5 Hours Later)

The man walked up the street, admiring the exterior design of the small café the street led him towards. A hand-chalked that seemed to be a signature thing for every single coffee shop displayed the special deal of the day as well as advertising their Irish crème and caramel latte. It really didn’t sound too bad at the moment.

He stopped in his tracks when he was right before the door of the café and looked through the windows, seeing that dozens of people had already taken almost every place available inside. In front of the brick/wood building, there were a few tables lined up along the front store of the café. _Those probably would’ve been full as well, if the weather was nicer_ , Bill thought and smiled. _I should come by more often._

He got closer to the massive windows in hopes to catch a glimpse of the man while he worked. And he wasn’t disappointed. Stan looked amazing in his apron and the tray he carried four coffee mugs on. His hair had its usual spark to it and gracefully bounced up and down with every step the man took. The author kind of wanted to just stand there and admire him as he worked but he needed to think about how he must have looked from inside the café as well. Like a fucking creep.

He stepped towards the door and stopped; he was completely empty-handed. He suddenly felt bad for not buying flowers or something like that. He knew Stan appreciated small things as well as gestures. If today would go smoothly, he made a mental note to buy the man some flowers next time he would be seeing Stan.

He shrugged and entered the small establishment. Stan’s head snapped to his way when he heard the bell chime and his heart started to beat like a rabbit’s. And even though he wasn’t aware, Bill wasn’t too different from himself. The moment their eyes met; he felt his stomach twist with anticipation. _Fuck_ , had he missed Stan.

He went straight towards the counter that had bar stools lined up all along the counter. Stan smiled at him and leaned over the black marble and watched as Bill sat down onto one of the stools that was closest to Stan.

“Good evening, Sir.” He said almost in a teasing tone before his eyes widened and straightened his posture with a fake cough, gaining time to pull himself together. Bill smirked and watched as Stan blushed under his gaze a bit, raising his eyebrows when they made eye-contact once again.

“Missed me?”

“Shut up.” Bill snorted and shook his head as Stan turned away and pointed up at the menu above their heads.

“What would you like?” Bill didn’t even need to think about his order.

“I’d like a caramel latte please. Medium.” Stan grimaced but started to prepare his order anyway.

“You and your sweet tooth. I can’t understand how you like that liquefied candy.”

“Who said you need to understand something to respect it, Stanley?”

The man paused. He despised the way he slightly shuddered when he heard his name like that. Bill was doing things to himself he didn’t want to admit. He didn’t feel like he was ready to give in yet, he needed time. Mostly to think his feelings through and make sure they wouldn’t get in the way and prevent himself from acting professionally with the author. Nor did he want to forget that what they had going on between them was just a job. _It was only a fucking job._

He sighed and poured the coffee into the cup before closing its lid and turned back around with a small smile on his face. But that smallest fragment of a smile froze, and then slowly vanished when he locked eyes with someone over Bill’s shoulder. The author heard him swear under his breath before he moved to the cash with a very, very forced smile on his face.

He turned his head to his side and saw a blonde woman walk up to Stan with a weird glint in her eyes he couldn’t put his finger on. Bill felt an unfamiliar feeling start to pool inside his guts and slowly spread across all around his body. It was rage.

“Good evening, ma’am. May I take your order?”

“Aw, Stan. I thought we had passed that part already.” She reached over and touched his hand, a smile that was probably meant to be sexy present on her face. It didn’t look attractive. Stan had to force himself not to gag and quickly drew his hand back to his side.

“Please do not touch me.” He warned with a cold tone. Bill had never punched a woman in his life before, but… He felt like he could right now.

“Now, _please_ , may I take your order?”

“Oh, come on, Stan,” she batted her eyelashes, leaning over the counter. “You know I love it when you act cold with me-makes me all tingly inside.”

She shook her hips; Stan raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest with an unfazed frown on his face. The woman must’ve taken the hint because she huffed and took a step back with a frown deeper than Stan’s.

“Okay, fine.” She rolled her eyes and surprisingly ordered a black coffee. Bill was expecting something fancier from her.

“Coming right up.”

Bill thought the scene was over. But it wasn’t. It never really was that easy, was it? Because the moment Stan turned his back, she took her phone out and started to record him make her coffee. Bill’s eyes widened and looked around, both impressed and pissed at her stupid boldness with so many people around her that could’ve seen what she was doing at any second.

He stood up from the stool and quickly went up to her at the same time Stan had finished preparing the drink and turned around. She quickly put the phone away and smiled, opening her to say something but before she could spit out whatever bullshit she was thinking, Bill grabbed her hand and stopped her under Stan’s suspicious gaze watching him.

“Ma’am I’ll have to ask you to delete the video you have taken of that man.” She glared up at him and drew her hand back with a sharp swat. _Fucking ouch_ , Bill thought as he rubbed his hand, his wide eyes on the woman. Stan’s eyes widened before narrowing accusingly and his gaze darted between the woman and the author. She saw his gaze and panicked a tad and chose to shout as her defence mechanism.

“Who the fuck do you think you are to accuse me like that?”

“That is not important, ma’am.” Stan glared down at her with the same accusing gaze. “Did you take a video of me?”

She refused to answer as well, trying to change the topic.

“Who is he, Stan?” Bill panicked for a moment. Who was he to Stan? An employer? A friend? A nobody? He blinked for a few times before the expectant, smug-looking woman.

“I… I-Uh… I’m his-”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

Stan cut him off and pulled Bill close to himself by his collar over the counter and kissed him long and deep. It would’ve been an understatement to say Bill was utterly shocked at the surprise kiss. When they pulled away, Stan had narrow eyes, looking down at the woman like he was challenging her to say anything else.

“I want you to take your fucking coffee and get out of my café. And please never bother to come back again.”

The woman scoffed, grabbed the coffee from his hands with force, nearly spilled the hot drink all over herself and stomped away. Bill heard Stan spit out another string of irritated curses under his breath before he turned to the customers and apologised for the inconvenience. Thankfully nobody seemed to care about what had gone down; some even was pissed at the woman for her behaviour.

After a relieved sigh, he turned back to Bill who was still standing where Stan had left him, completely frozen in place. The man felt his heart jump up to his throat with fear. Had he had done something wrong?

“I’m sorry about before.” Stan scratched the back of his neck with distress. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

Bill sat down quietly on the bar stool and started to drink his coffee, trying to normalise his heartbeats that pounded like he had just ran a fucking marathon with deep, steady breaths.

“N-No, uh-it’s fine. Really.”

“Uh… My shift is over. We can stop by somewhere and talk there if you want to get out of here.”

“I feel like you’re the one who wants to get out.” Stan shrugged.

“Yeah. I really want to get the fuck out.”

Bill watched the man walk to the back of the café to change and used his time to observe the people in the building. There were different faces everywhere, doing different things, talking about different subjects. All of them had separate lives from one another, with different stories to tell, different experiences to share. That fact alone amazed Bill. And that was the exact reason why he had decided to write novels. To write about people’s everyday lives with a disturbing plot. He liked to give each of the characters a taste of a normal life before he turned that situation completely upside down. He liked that, people liked that, and in the end, he was happy with that.

“Shall we?” Bill looked up to him and his gaze roamed over his body. He was wearing a full-length loden coat, so it was completely impossible for him to see his outfit; which was kind of a downer. But he could wait until they found a place to sit down and talk at.

They left the building and walked around until Bill spotted a handmade sign. It was a small yet pretty restaurant and seemed to be doing well judging by how packed it was. They read the menu that they had put in front of one of the windows.

“Meat pie, huh?” Stan turned to Bill with an excited smile.

“Want to try one?” The author returned the smile and opened the door for him.

“Sure.”

* * *

Stan hummed as he took his last piece from his dish and put his cutlery down. Bill agreed with a content hum of his own as he chewed his bite. This was the best meal he had ever had in a long time. The owner of the shop wasn’t lying; this was worth committing every single sin in the book. No wonder they got so famous so fast.

“We should come here again.” He blurted out as he leaned back; the fullness of his belly was getting to his head like a drug. Stan paused and nodded before he grabbed the napkin and cleaned the area around his lips, gathering any fat or sauce that he might’ve gotten there.

“We should talk first.” He put the napkin down and took a deep breath before flatly voicing the obvious elephant in the room.

"So, we had sex."

Stan seemed much calmer than Bill had expected about it, to the point of blurting it without hesitance like he was saying humans needed to breathe to live. He had been thinking that Stan was going to flip his shit and sue him for rape up until a few days ago. But he was here now, with his consent, sitting across himself with a whitish yellow tightly buttoned up shirt, a blue cardigan on top of it, his expression much more collected than Bill’s, hands linked in front of him on the table.

That posture gave him a feeling of mild déjà vu. He looked just like how he did when they were sitting at that restaurant the first time they met. He couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face. Then his eyes darted down to his neck. The collar of his shirt was doing a pretty bad job at hiding the hickeys on his skin. He could see a few almost completely faded marks that were scattered all around it. You needed to know they were there once to actually spot them on his skin, but Bill still saw them.

He felt a strong feeling of possession wash over him, surrounding the man, making him want to grab Stan and hide him from everyone. From anyone that might want to take him away from the author's hands. But he needed to wake up from his daydream and actually reply to Stan. Eventually.

"Yeah... That happened."

Bill was nervous. Had he fucked everything up? Well, _yeah_ , he originally did. The guy was fucking drunk. He should've never let that happen in the first place but now, the only they could do was to talk about what had happened like the two rational adults they were.

"D-Duh-Did you ha-huh-hate it?" Fuck, he was nervous enough to stutter, huh? Stan's eyebrows furrowed, looking at Bill with a questioning gaze. He had heard him stutter before but now, he almost stuttered almost through the whole sentence.

"What's with the stutter?" Bill scratched the back of his neck.

"Huh-ah-I us-use-used to s-stuh-stutter when I wa-wuh-was young. B-But-Buh-But now, I o-oh-only d-do-do it wuh-when uh-I'm n-nuh-Fuck!"

He sighed and hid his face behind his palms. Stan smiled and shook his head as he watched Bill mumble to himself as he kept hiding his face. The man reached out, hesitated for a moment, shook his head with a determined face and touched the back of his hands. Bill slightly flinched before he slowly lowered his hands, meeting Stan’s gaze. His eyes were warm, gentle and reassuring. He held Bill’s hand and gave it a small squeeze before quickly releasing it.

“No-one really told you how _I_ felt about it, did they?”

“No, huh-how did y-yuh-you feel?”

“Honestly? At first, I was fucking terrified.” He chuckled dryly and that made Bill flinch again.

“I couldn’t remember jack shit but you and your hands roaming all around me. Then I remembered how good it felt, how fucking great the sex actually was. I liked it Bill. I never really thought that I would but… I liked it.”

Bill had to blink a couple of times. _Stan liked it? Did he really?_ He narrowed his eyes with concern and studied Stan’s face. But he couldn’t find any signs of lying or discomfort.

“So, ah-are we good?”

“More than good. I’ll come by whenever I feel ready, okay? I just want to take a few days off to clear my head more, if that’s possible.” Stan gave Bill an apologetic smile. “To wrap my head around where we stand.”

“We can talk whenever you’re ready, Stan. I’ll be here. I was serious about my comments from before. You’re a really nice guy and if we don’t work out, I’ll still be happy to help you as a friend.”

“Thank you, Bill. Thank you so much.”

Stan paid for the food and walked back to the café where Bill’s car was parked. When they were there, the author turned to him before gesturing towards his car.

“May I give you a ride?” Stan shook his head with a small smile.

“No, thank you. I have some places I’ll have to stop by.” Bill was a tad disappointed but he decided to try his luck again. He really wanted to see Stan and take him somewhere nice.

“Then at least allow me to take you out to dinner sometime. You might not know this but you’re special for me. You’re a really nice guy. And even if we don’t work out as ‘financial partners’, I’ll be happy to have you as my friend.”

“Of course. I feel the same.” He gave Bill a bigger smile. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready. Thank you for understanding.”

Bill nodded and smiled before he held his arms out and stepped closer. Stan subconsciously stepped away and the author froze, remembering his request from before. Stan had a sad and worried smile on his face.

“I… I’m still getting used to this. Bear with me, okay?” His smile from before returned.

“Of course.”


	7. I Want You Daddy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could feel the fastening rhythm of his heart ringing inside his ears. He was very excited about tomorrow and that gave him another reason for Bill to sit on his ass all day and do nothing for his sake. He needed to be awake to see Stan to spend as much as time he would like with him.  
> ***  
> “I loved it, Daddy.”  
> “Sta-Stuh-Stan, w-wha… W-What did you s-sa-say?”  
> ***  
> “I-I got dressed up for you, Bill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for neglecting both last Thursday's and yesterday's updates! I had a lot I needed to take care of and forgot this fanfiction existed. Again, I apologise.
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been exactly eight days since the last time Bill had seen Stan. They haven’t talked, haven’t even messaged one another. But that was what the man had wanted originally. And Bill was staying true to his word. He was patiently waiting for Stan’s text; he wasn’t going to force him into being comfortable with him. He said he would inform whenever he was ready; and even though it was a tad frustrating and unnerving for the author, he had found some usage for the free time.

He had an upcoming secret deal with a company to take his career from the papers to the theatres, to pursue and take advantage of the opportunity that had been given to him to make himself more known. This had been his dream, to direct a movie based on his novels. And the price they were willing to pay wasn’t something Bill could blindly pass over to someone else. He knew he needed to use their interest, and milk as much as he could from it.

Plus, the actors the company had named weren’t some wannabe actors the company was trying to feed him with, no. They were actually pretty decent people with some very good movies and a few praise-worthy awards. He finally felt valued and appreciated fully, and he wanted to savour the feeling by putting extra effort into his novel, to prove others that he could commit and achieve something.

He yawned as he stretched his arms over his head, feeling his knuckles and spine crack with the finally relaxed stiffness of his posture. How long had he been sitting there and writing? He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then his temples that throbbed with a pain that could almost compete against migraine. He was forgetting he was getting old to be sitting still for five+ hours a night and just write down whatever came to his mind. He really needed to take a break.

Saving his progress, he turned the computer off. Once he was standing on his feet, he stretched again, cracking new areas all around his body. Groaning with discomfort, he sighed deeply before he left his office and went into his room.

Changing his pyjamas, he grabbed his keys and wallet, and got out of the house. The cool morning air hit him, and he took a deep breath, feeling his lungs burn slightly. He walked up the street and went into the park he used to take walks at. It was now quiet and isolated unlike how it was in the afternoon. It felt nice to have the place all to himself.

He started to whistle as he walked, admiring the trees and the birds that sat on top of them, the colourful flowers and the grass. It felt very nice and unique; it _had_ been a while since he had done something like this all for himself and his mental health.

He made a mental note to remember sparing time for himself and resumed his stroll for half an hour until he felt tiredness start to get to him. He took one last stroll around the park and left, starting to aimlessly walk around. He didn’t really want to go back home just now, he wanted to make the most of his enthusiasm of going out.

He raised his head just as he was passing a café. A strong feeling of déjà vu washed over him and a strong urge to go in and look for Stan. But he shook his head; still he went in, the strong smell of freshly grinded coffee beans’ hit him like a lightning.

He let out a soft gasp and took a deep breath. It smelled much more different than the café that Stan worked at. He was a tad shocked at how he could tell the difference. The thought was a bit concerning yet comforting.  
Concerning, because he had once again realised just how depended he was to the man and how much he had missed him.  
Comforting, because he had hope that he would see Stan again. And things reminding him of that hope helped him cooperate with the absence of him.

He ordered a plain coffee to try to wake himself up and tipped the barista. He got a free muffin for that and left the café with a warm, content smile. He walked the rest of the way home as he drank his coffee, the smile never leaving his face.

That smile only faltered tad when he saw his house, since the author got reminded of his responsibilities and his task at hand. But he needed this day off; he wasn’t going to do anything today. He had promised himself, for the next twenty four hours, he would spend the time all for himself. No working, no nothing.

He entered the house and took off his coat and placed his keys back onto the counter that was located in the hallway and went inside to put the muffin down onto the kitchen island. He then went to wash his hands, changed into something more comfortable and went back to the kitchen.

Drinking coffee first thing in the morning wasn’t quite the best idea since his stomach had started to ache with almost an acidic pain. He groaned and thought about what to eat. Taking out two eggs from the fridge and made an omelette.

It must have been a long time since he had last eaten eggs that even smell of burnt oil with eggs smelled good to the author. Still, the more he smelled, the worse it got so he opened the window and let the smell in the air flow right out into the cool air outside.

He grabbed his plate and poured himself a glass of milk. This little breakfast of his had reminded him of the time when his mum would make him scrambled eggs with a glass of milk for him to drink. She had a job so that was all she could do on weekdays. It was a pleasant memory for him, and he wanted to relive pleasant things that day.

Watching out for the milk, he flopped down onto the sofa and grabbed the remote to watch the movie he had wanted to see for a long time. He set everything up, grabbed his plate, and just as he was about to take his first bite, his phone vibrated against the glass coffee table before him.

He furrowed his eyebrows and took a bite, starting to chew as he unlocked the phone. And as he read the ID of the sender, he nearly choked on the eggs. His eyes widened as he tried not to cough to not spray half-chewed egg everywhere. And after a long struggle, he managed to calm himself down and took a deep breath.

‘Stan (Stanley)  
Received at 08:12  
Hello, I wanted to inform you that I’m ready to continue. If you still want me there, we can arrange an appointment.’

Bill snorted at his formalness and shook his head with a fond expression. He had really missed the man. It had been very hard for him not to text the man first; much more than he would’ve liked to admit.

‘Bill Denbrough  
Received at 08:14  
Of course, I’m glad you still want to see me. What should we do?’

Stan flinched slightly when he heard his phone’s notification go off. He wasn’t expecting him to be awake at this hour. Normally he would be sleeping, unless he had stayed up all night to finish a chapter or few again. His eyes narrowed as he typed.

‘Stan (Stanley)  
Received at 08:15  
Did you stay up all night again, Bill?’

‘Bill Denbrough  
Received at 08:15  
…  
No?’

The man rolled his eyes at that. He was very worried about his health. It wasn’t healthy for a man of his age or even any age to spend all that time in front of a screen _and_ at night.

‘Stan (Stanley)  
Received at 08:16  
I think I told you not to do that.  
I was thinking we could go to a restaurant again. We could have dinner?’

Bill smiled brightly at that. He loved hanging out with Stan outside of their homes or at the places where they worked. That felt more intimate and bonding to him.

‘Bill Denbrough  
Received at 08:17  
I’d love to. When are you free?’

Stan thought about it for a moment. He wasn’t going to say “Let’s go tonight” like an ignorant prick because he didn’t want to tire the already-spent author anymore. He’d need his stamina for what the man had in his mind.

‘Stan (Stanley)  
Received at 08:18  
What about tomorrow?’

‘Bill Denbrough  
Received at 08:18  
I’ll pick you up at 8. Does that sound good?’

‘Stan (Stanley)  
Received at 08:19  
Yes, it does. Where are we going?’

‘Bill Denbrough  
Received at 08:19  
It’s a surprise.’

‘Stan (Stanley)  
Received at 08:20  
What’s the dress code then?’

‘Bill Denbrough  
Received at 08:20  
Just wear something nice. You’ll get away with anything anyway.’

The author put his phone down when after two minutes of no response. His meal was now cool but that didn’t bother him because he was going to see Stan. Who gave a rat’s ass about how warm the eggs were now?

He could feel the fastening rhythm of his heart ringing inside his ears. He was very excited about tomorrow and that gave him another reason for Bill to sit on his ass all day and do nothing for his sake. He needed to be awake to see Stan to spend as much as time he would like with him.

* * *

The author took a last look at himself in the mirror. He wanted to see if anything looked wonky or if the colours of his suit pieces matched; even though they were basic pieces. A plain white dress shirt, a black jacket, and slim cut black suit trousers. He didn’t like to wear ties or bowties, so he was only wearing a scarf under his coat. He didn’t want to make it too obvious that he had been waiting for this night bur he _did_ want to look presentable as well.

But he knew he didn’t have much time left since it was almost eight o’clock already. He needed to hurry the fuck up. He quickly grabbed his essentials, perfumed himself and hurried out of the house. The whole ride to Stan’s flat was a nightmare for him. He was bouncing his legs up and down whenever he was waiting for the green light, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently and his heart felt like it was about to explode.

And when he was there, he found Stan waiting for him at the car park with a cigarette in-between his fingers. He quickly took his last drags from it and put it out before walking over to a rubbish bin and threw the butt in. It was like he was trying to make Bill wait, and to make himself look like he didn’t care about this at all. But he did.

He was just trying to pathetically buy himself time to be able to calm down. The silk shirt he was wearing didn’t do much good to his already-sensitive chest and he could feel the attire underneath everything rub all over his skin. It was an arousing yet terrifying sensation. But the thrill of the possibility of getting caught kept him going. He had wanted this, and he would commit to it.

“Hey.” Stan opened the car door and smiled down at the author, acknowledging his greeting.

“Hey.”

“Shall we?”

“We shall.”

The car ride was silent. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable one where you feel the awkwardness gnaw at you to cut the silence and start a conversation, no. This was just pure consented, comfortable silence between them. They didn’t feel the need to stuff with small talks or music. Bill was more than thankful for that, but he did actually want to small talk.

“You look good.” Stan turned to him with slightly wide eyes like he wasn’t expecting a compliment from Bill. He looked down at his outfit before giving him a warm smile.

“Thank you,” he said, shifting in his seat with a slight smirk on his lips. “You don’t look too bad yourself for an old man.”

“Oh, please, don’t flatter me.” He waved one of his hands at Stan, making him chuckle softly.

“So, where are we going?” Bill turned to face the man for a moment before shaking his head. He reached out and tapped the tip of his nose with his index finger. Stan subtly flinched and looked down at his nose with wide eyes, then back at Bill.

“Why did you that for?” The author’s eyes widened slightly when his heart ached at the sight. That was… Very cute.

“It’s a surprise, Stanley. Be patient.”

Stan subconsciously straightened his posture with a soft gasp. Bill glanced at him and saw the slight blush on his cheeks. His eyes widened and his heartbeats fastened as he stole glances at Stan every now and then, watching him squirm and shift in his seat. He knew something was up with Stan, but he really didn’t think the man would tell if he had asked what was wrong with him. He just needed to wait and see if he would open up to him or not. For now, all he could was to make small talk with him and try to hear about Stan’s life and fill him in with his life as well.

“So, I’ve been working on a new book in the past few days when I was alone.” Stan sent him a teasing, subtle smile.

“Couldn’t find something better to do?” Bill choked on air before he stole a glance at Stan. He was already staring back at him with a smirk. _The fucker knows what he’s doing._

The man motioned towards the road with his eyebrows and a warning frown. Bill swallowed thickly before nodding and looked back at the road. This was going to be a long, long night. And he knew Stan was going to have fun teasing him.

“Anyway, I’ll have a deal with a company if I can finish the book on time.”

“They’ll make it a movie?” Bill hummed with pride.

“That’s right.” Stan gave him a warm smile that made Bill’s heart clench at the sight.

“I’m glad people are appreciating someone like you, Bill. You deserved that.”

“T-Thank you…”

Stan chuckled at his stutter and shook his head before turning his head and looked out of the window. They once again fell into a comfortable silence, but they didn’t try to fill the silence this time, they just enjoyed it, and one another’s company.

* * *

“So, how was food?” Bill asked as the waitress took their plates with a polite smile. Stan gave him a thumbs up with a wide, content smile.

“Best salmon I’ve ever had in my life.” Bill placed his elbows on the table and gave him a pleased smile as he slotted his chin on top of them.

“I’m glad you liked it. I guessed you might want to come to a place like this.” He then shifted his position to a more comfortable one before he grabbed his half empty wine glass.

“Plus, their white wine is a blessing.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He carefully twisted his ankle, waving the glass around in the process as though to prove his point. “Cheers.”

They clinked their glasses gently and Bill saluted the man before taking a sip. Stan did the same and finished his wine in one gulp. Bill smiled at that before nodding towards the wine bottle to silently ask if he wanted more.

“No, thank you,” he placed his glass down and smiled at Bill with a knowing glint in his eyes. “I want to be completely sober for it.”

Bill gave him a confused look as Stan smirked and was about to ask but was, once again, interrupted by a waitress, making the author sigh; defeated.

“Would you like to try our Lemon Semifreddo?”

“Would you like to?” Stan gave Bill a smile and a nod.

“Sounds lovely.”

They waited for their desserts to arrive as they studied one another in silence. Bill was getting suspicious. _Just, what the fuck was he planning?_ Those looks he was giving to the author, the smirks, the never-ending innuendos… If Bill didn’t know any better, he would think Stan was implying what his mind was taking him to.

“Enjoy.” Stan gave her a half-smile, his slightly narrow eyes on Bill, looking him up and down.

“Oh, we certainly will.” _Okay, what the fuck?_

“Stan, what did that mean?”

The man of course didn’t answer and grabbed his fork and began to eat the small cake in his plate. Bill was a tad frustrated but he didn’t say anything, beginning to eat his dessert as well. But it seemed like Stan was more interested in making sure Bill was watching as he took each bite slowly much more than the taste of the creamy, sweet-sour, soft cake.

He was starting to feel his pants tighten slightly. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and tried not to look at Stan while he ate. He only raised his head when he was sure the man was done eating, big fucking mistake. Seeing Stan do that instead eating the dessert wasn’t what a sane person would like to go through willingly. Because he was in the middle of licking his fork clean. He drew his tongue along the tines, wanting Bill to be able to watch it move in-between each one of them, gathering the white, sweet cream off of the fork.

Bill swallowed thickly, his grip on his own fork got tighter and tighter with each passing moment of Stan licking the cutlery without breaking his eye-contact with the author. Oh, how much he had to restrain himself from giving the man his dessert just to see him lick the fork once again. But no, he was going to learn Stan’s purpose behind everything he had done this night. He was confused, and so fucking horny.

Bill paid for the food and the drink and guided Stan to the exit. He was taking each step carefully to not show people how he had just gotten a boner from watching his company lick a fucking fork. But as they got closer to the glass doors, he relaxed and started to walk right by the man.

It seemed as though they were getting closer and closer with each step they took towards the restaurant’s door, but Stan still didn’t touch Bill. He didn’t cross his arms over his chest to avoid touching the author or something like that but could sense a coldness that surrounded him now. The gentle, teasing warmness between them from before had vanished. And he needed that warmness.

He was very confused; the man’s behaviour didn’t make sense.

Still, that gap between them felt like nothing to Bill. He could still feel the body heat of the man’s presence right beside and their arms brushed together as they swung. And the author finally gathered the courage he lacked to actually make a move.

He opened his fingers and captured Stan’s wrist in a gentle hold before slowly slid his hand down and slotted their fingers together. He waited as stiff as a wooden stick as he expected Stan to glare at him and swat his hand away. But neither of them happened. Stan still didn’t spare a glance at Bill, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by holding hands either. So, the author tried to savour the moment as much as he could, not realising that he had already walked out of the restaurant.

Stan’s elbow jabbing into his side dragged him back down to reality. The valet from before was looking at them expectantly and the man had a slight frown on his face now. The author was against to step away or even drop his hold on Stan, but they couldn’t stand and wait there forever. So, he released the warm hand he had sought the presence of since the very second he had dropped the man’s hold and stepped towards the valet. Retrieving his keys from him with a slight frown on his face, he saw him try to step towards the car. _For what? Opening the doors for them, of course._

Bill shook his head and stepped between the car and the valet, slipped a tenner as a tip into his front pocket and patted his shoulders to send him away with a tight-lipped smile. He thought he was being smooth and subtle but when he turned to face Stan, he was met with narrow honey orbs and an amused, half-smirk. He fondly shook his head, making Bill slightly blush with embarrassment.

“Oh, shush.”

And Stan did fall into silence after that, but not because he was told so by Bill. He was actually calculating the night in his head, analysing how it had gone and debating whether he should be doing what he had on his mind or not. And for once, he decided to stop overthinking and just went along with what he felt like saying and doing at the moment.

Bill, once again, decided to break the silence in the car and between them with another question. It felt too thick for some reason this time, and he checked rear-view mirror before he changed his lane and looked at Stan for a moment. He felt nervous for some reason.

“S-Suh-So,” he cursed himself internally for his stutter and his eyes darted towards Stan’s for a moment once again before he turned back to the road.

“Huh-How was tonight?”

Stan gulped, a subtle smile starting to from across his lips. He had actually liked it. Bill didn’t really try to do anything, and he had respected his boundaries and never tried to touch the man. Well, up until the very last minute. But that was more than okay. Still, he knew he wanted to tease the author more until the very end.

So, he shifted in his seat, adjusted his sitting position and fully faced Bill, checked the situation of the road and watched for any cars before opening his mouth with a smirk attached onto his lips.

“I loved it, Daddy.”

Pure amusement almost seethed from Stan’s tone, but did that do something to Bill that he didn’t really want to admit. That very word came from the man’s mouth sent a jolt straight down to his already half-hard member, making his hands start to shake despite having an iron grip on the steering wheel; and his knuckles turned white in a matter of seconds.

“Sta-Stuh-Stan, w-wha… W-What did you s-sa-say?”

His logic and along with that his brain melted away and turned into pure panic-mush with the subtle smirk from the man that widened with the reaction he had gotten from the author. His pulse started to pound in his skull. Stan’s eyes were full of purpose, his pupils slightly dilated, his golden-brown irises darkened with lust.

“So, it _can_ be sexual, huh Bill?”

He leaned in, his hand slid over the tight fit around his thigh and pawed at his flesh like a kitten, gently digging his nails into his skin. When his fingertips accidentally brushed against his crotch, both men tensed up and Stan looked up at the author’s clenched jaw with amazement and desire flooding from his gaze.

“Shit. You really liked me calling you ‘Daddy’.” His smirk widened more when he saw Bill swallow thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously.

“I loved everything about this night, Daddy. But I want mo-”

“Stanley, _stop_.”

Bill stopped at the red light and turned to face Stan with a frown. He thought Stan would obey and stop his teasing but was he wrong. His hand that had been sitting on his thigh slid closer to his crotch until the man’s fingertips were brushing against his hard-on once again. The author was about to protest but Stan shushed him, pointing back at the road with his chin.

“It’s green now, Daddy.” Bill let out a low groan. It was taking everything in his willpower now to turn the car around or even find a place that’s isolated enough and just fuck some fucking manners into Stan. What the _hell_ was he even thinking?

“Stan, what are you doing?” The man gave him a smirk that unfortunately Bill had missed because he was trying his best to pay attention to the road.

“I’m not-” he cupped the author over his clothes, making him gasp and hiss at the touch- “doing anything, Daddy.”

Bill pulled his right hand away from the steering wheel that he held with both hands and tried to push Stan’s hand away from his crotch. But it didn’t work, and the man gave him one final squeeze before taking Bill’s hand and guided it towards his face.

The author tried not to pay attention to him as he took the first of the final two turns he had to take to arrive at his home. Stan held his two fingers up and licked between the digits, then around them, getting them nice and wet before he took them into his mouth. Bill jumped in his seat and nearly lost control for a moment before he quickly drew his hand back and looked at Stan with wide eyes. But he didn’t say anything yet; he took the last turn and parked the car with great frustration. Only then he turned to face the man that had been staring at him almost the whole ride.

“Stan-”

“I want you.”

“W-What…” Stan gave him a determined nod.

“I want you, Bill.” He leaned over and bit down onto the author’s earlobe, licking around the sensitive skin there. “And I have a surprise for you.”

* * *

Before Stan could process what was happening, one of Bill’s hands curled a fist at the collar of the man’s shirt and he got pulled forwards first, then jerked back with force, up against the cold metal door that had been slammed closed after them. His body pressed tightly between the door and Bill, he could feel the clamps digging into the other man’s chest, he widened his eyes with a small gasp, and the sensation around his own chest making him let out a small whimper at the overwhelming contact.

Bill looked right into his hooded eyes, grabbed his hands and pinned them against the metal door with one hand, the other cupping his cheek. He pushed their forehead together and gasped as Stan desperately grinded against him.

“I…” He swallowed, shaking his head to gather his thoughts. “Are you sure about this?”

Stan tried to use his hands before remembering that he had been restricted above his head, the pressure on his wrists sent a jolt down his spine, and down to his member. He swallowed hard before arching his back and used his torso to push him away slightly. Bill released Stan when the man let out a broken breathy moan at the impact, looking at him with a questioning look.

“I-I got dressed up for you, Bill.” The man bit down onto his bottom lip.

“Wuh-What does that mean?”

Stan gave him a small smirk before he pushed him away more and reached down to grab the hem of his sweater and pulled it off. He let it fall down onto the floor before reaching up to the collar of his shirt and slowly (teasingly) unbuttoned the first three buttons, slightly pulled the silk fabric apart enough for the author to notice the leather straps that connected the thin collar on his neck to his shoulders and the chain between them.

Bill gasped as Stan continued to unbutton his shirt, revealing the clamps on his nipples, then the rest of the harness that dipped into the waistband of his trousers over his belly. He looked very good in that; Bill could feel his mouth begin to water at the sight, his member giving a hungry twitch.

“Oh.” He smirked and started to caress his cheeks with adoration mixed with lust in his eyes. “Do you have something inside you as well?”

“N-No… I wanted you to do that.” He admitted, looking away from Bill’s predatory gaze.

“I’d do it,” he suddenly grabbed Stan’s jaw and forced him to look him in the eyes. “But I won’t.”

“But-”

“You deserve punishment, Stanley.” He growled into the man’s neck. “You’ve been a very, _very_ bad boy today.”

He tugged at the thin chain that connected his two nipples together, making the clamps tug at his perky buds almost painfully hard, making Stan let out a cry.

“Do you think you deserve this, Stanley?” He clicked his tongue before taking the clams off. His nipples were deliciously irritated and red now. Bill leaned in and licked at one of his swollen nipples. Stan shuddered with the warm tongue that was gently licking the bruised bud.

“N-No…” Bill climbed back up to his lips and bit down onto his bottom lip before tugging at it.

“But Daddy thinks you do.” His hungry eyes roamed around his exposed chest, then to the shirt that was still draped over his shoulder.

“Still, I’ll lessen your punishment if you can do something for me.”

“Anything, Sir.”

“We’ll do a slight role-play.” Bill smirked and helped Stan out of his shirt, watching the shining cloth land on the ground. The author then grabbed his hips and trailed up his sides until he reached the either side of his pecks.

“I want you to give me a lap dance, Stanley.” He gave him a long, almost bruising peck before pulling away to nip at his pulse.

“B-But-” His words cut off because he had felt Bill’s teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh of his neck.

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“That, baby, is not my problem.” He let Stan go and took a few steps back. “I’ll be in the bedroom. I’ll wait for you.”

Stan knew what he had to do. Even though the author didn’t really voice what he wanted, he knew it well enough. So, he watched Bill step towards the bedroom and tugged his trousers off, completely exposing himself to nobody in particular. He looked down at his body and tried to gain enough confidence to go there and give what Bill wanted, and possibly earn a particular something to fill himself with.


	8. I’ll Be Your Slut for a Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you might have noticed that I have decided to not add summaries since I reckon nobody actually waits to read them through. Plus, these days things are a tad complicated in my private life, hence the irregularity with the uploads but I'll still try to stick to my set update days.
> 
> Enjoy!

Bill walked into the bedroom and closed the door, giving both of them some privacy to get ready for one another. His heartbeats were fast, unsteady; pounding against his chest. He felt quite impatient and desperate for relief since he had been hard for a long time because of Stan. He would’ve never guessed the man would have something like that in him.

He quickly sat down on the bed, facing the door. He felt quite excited for the sight he would be seeing, the body he would be feeling his own that the author had longed for a while. He felt like a teenage boy about to receive his first ever blow job after a successful date. And… The thought wasn’t that alien, he certainly would’ve gotten his hands on Stan if they had known each other back when they were teens.

And after an almost painful while, the door pushed open slowly, revealing the sight that made Bill’s mouth water with pure lust. He had to swallow a few times to get rid of the gathered saliva in his mouth. He looked absolutely incredible. The chest harness he was wearing had a thin collar that connected to the ones that hugged his biceps over his shoulders, highlighting his muscles brilliantly. The leather suspender harness hung high on his hips, hugged around the slight curve of his waist and connected to the two thigh straps from either side of his outer thighs and hips.

Bill felt his pants tighten around himself even more. If he wasn’t fully hard then, now he definitely was.

Stan gave him an unsure, forced smile before he started to slowly sink down onto his knees, a hand tracing the door frame in the process. He tried to calm himself and to forget about the embarrassment he felt, he took a few deep breaths before he straightened one of legs and spread them apart, giving Bill a good view of his crotch.

He then got on all fours, hesitantly pushed his arse up into the air and lowered his head, slightly spreading his legs to show his attire from a new perspective that Bill appreciated very, very much. The way the leather harness tightly hugged his hips and arse beautifully highlighted the shape of them. The author couldn’t pry his eyes from it, nor did he want to; Stan had an ass that could bring even the most prideful ones begging for it on their knees.

It was slim on the sides since the man had straight hips, and yet it was round around the cheeks, the skin smooth, in a great contrast with the thick, blondish brown hair that covered it. Bill had liked touching them the first-and only- time he did that.

The colour of it was tempting as well. The pale cheeks carried no signs of possession, waiting to be marked, begging to be bruised and painted in red and purple. And the author had loved marking him up, he loved seeing the man completely covered with his fingerprints, with his bruises. It boiled a deep feeling of possession inside of him, driving him insane with great satisfaction every time he thought about Stan like that.

Covered with marks and hickeys. Reminding everyone that he belonged to _Bill_ , and no-one else.

He wanted to be rough with Stan, he wanted to fuck him senselessly, to make him realise no-one but _him_ could make Stan feel that good, that satisfied. And he also wanted to be gentle with him, he wanted to embrace him tightly, to love him with his lips, to treat him so gently and caring, to make Stan aware of the author’s affection towards him.

He wanted Stan to only think about him, to only seek him, to only need him. He wanted that with all his might, and yet… With what kind of partnership, he had with Stan, he was painfully aware that he didn’t have the rights to demand and want such things.

He knew Stan probably didn’t want him the way Bill did. He supposed that to Stan, this was just a job that the man got paid for every month. The author’s needs and desires were just a task for him, and even though the thought of that was quite painful, he needed to accept that fact and not mix personal feelings into their business relationship.

Hell, he didn’t even know what he felt towards Stan. Perhaps it was only lust that Bill tried to desperately label as something more? Or perhaps it was only fascination? Stan was a beautiful man after all; anybody would appreciate having him like Bill did. He just needed to enjoy the things he had at hand now. He quickly dismissed the negative thoughts away from his mind and let himself savour Stan like the man deserved to be savoured.

Stan softly shook his hips right to left a couple of times before starting to slowly crawl towards Bill with a satisfied half-smirk; happy with the hunger he saw in the author’s eyes. Their heavenly deep blues carried a somehow alarming intense look in them. He looked intoxicatingly aroused, trying his best not to pounce onto Stan and take him right there, with his arse in the air.

When he was right before Bill, he looked up, still standing on all fours, desperately tried his best to put on his best show, wanting to look like he knew anything at all about what the fuck he was doing at the moment. But he knew something: He needed to be close to Bill to make him feel good.

He placed his hands on the author’s knees and stepped between his thighs on his shins and leaned in to place a ghost of a peck onto Bill’s member. He twitched from inside his underwear and he let out a shaky breath as Stan pulled away. He then slowly pushed the author’s legs apart to easily position himself between them, placing his hands on either side of his hips.

The man let out a deep sigh before he looked up at Bill’s face, seeking comfort and closure. The author looked down at him with hooded yet reassuringly gentle eyes before he reached down and cupped his cheek, almost in a loving way, caressed and traced his jawline, then his subtle cheekbones. Stan, encouraged by the author’s touch, palmed at him and looked up at him once again, starting to slowly massage him.

“I…” Stan cleared his throat to shake his stress away before he tried again. “Is this seat taken?”

“All reserved for your entertainment, Stanley.”

Bill spoke with such gentleness, in a great contrast with his painful hard-on and his hooded eyes, Stan had to let out a quiet gasp; still he started to caress his thighs, trying to get a reaction from him. And he did.

Bill let out a long groan when Stan once again started to palm at his member as he caressed the inner side of his right thigh with his free hand. His grasp on Stan’s face tightened slightly with the pleasure he felt, the man looked up and watched the way Bill rolled his head back in a complete bliss. Gaining some confidence from his reaction, Stan grabbed the hand that had been cupping his cheek and pushed his two digits into his mouth as he slowly got up to his feet, he tried to sink himself onto Bill’s lap as gracefully as he could with shaking thighs.

He threw his head backwards as he groaned softly at the feeling of a bulge pushing against his own around Bill’s two fingers. He arched his back, pushing their members together with a small, muffled gasp of ecstasy. He had missed this so much.

Bill put his free hand on Stan’s side and slowly trailed up to grab at the bottom of his ribcage before he leaned in and placed a gentle peck onto one of his nipples. He sucked the erect bud in-between his lips, his tongue swirled around it expertly, making Stan let out a low moan.

He bit down onto his bottom lip as Bill kept on teasing and sucking his buds, ashamed of the noises he let out because of his nipples. But the author loved the gasps and groans he was getting out of Stan. He grabbed his hips and thrust up to grind himself against Stan. He moaned loudly as his eyes shot open at the friction. He gasped and held onto Bill’s shoulders as the author kept thrusting upwards, moaning with every thrust. And Stan loved those noises.

“Bill, stop.”

“Stanley, I don’t think you’re the one-”

The man cut him off by leaning down and biting down onto Bill’s bottom lip, his hooded eyes almost boring into his soul as he pulled back, and not letting go of the author’s bottom lip until then.

“I’ll be a slut for you for tonight. And that’s why…” He smirked down at the author’s wide eyes. “You’re under my control now.”

“I hope you know you’ll get punished for this.” Stan moved his lips up until he was kissing the shell of his ear. He licked a long stripe along the backside of it and pulled away with an amused smile when he heard him gasp against his shoulder.

“Is that a promise, Billy?”

And just as the author was about to come up with an answer, Stan rolled his hips back and forth harshly. Bill let out a loud moan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Satisfied with the reaction, the man started to grind himself down against Bill’s member experimentally, constantly ripping out low moans from the back of his throat.

He shifted his posture and put his knees on the mattress on either side of Bill’s thighs and adjusted himself on Bill’s lap and felt the author’s arousal rubbing against his entrance. He grinned down at him and kept on grinding his hips before leaning in and starting to kiss along his jaw and throat, sucking on the skin just soft enough to not leave any bruises behind. Bill kept on moaning at the teasing gentleness of Stan’s lips; those soft kisses felt like the best torture Bill could’ve ever asked for.

Stan lifted himself up slightly from the author’s lap before pushing back down and grinding against Bill with force, ripping a loud, breathy moan from him. He was twitching against Stan that the man had to stop for a moment before deciding that it would’ve been better if _he_ was the one that was driving _Bill_ insane. The author had asked for this, and Stan’s very best, he would get.

With the determination of making Bill come undone underneath him, Stan’s hesitant shyness from before was long gone. He was smirking and letting out pornographic fake-moans as he kept grinding his hips down, rolling them in circular motions, his eyes never leaving Bill’s face to not miss even one reaction from the author.

Oh, how much Bill wanted to erase that smirk off of his face, if he could pull himself together to actually move his body other than his shallow thrusts upwards to meet Stan’s ass. But the pleasure was too much, he couldn’t think straight. The way he could feel himself slide between Stan’s cheeks was overwhelmingly brilliant. He wanted more. And just as he was going to stop the man, he stopped his motions all together absurdly and looked down at Bill’s face with a hesitant, tight-lipped smile.

“Is… Is this enough? I want to try something else as well.”

“What is it?”

“I want to try sucking you.”

The author suddenly pulled away from him with the shock of hearing Stan say that and threw the man out of balance. Stan yelped with fear and his hands scrambled around to hold onto for him to not fall down onto the ground. His one hand managed to find Bill’s shoulder but the other one was too high that he missed his original destination and his fingers wrapped around the author’s throat instead.

Bill chocked out a cough as he caught Stan and pulled him back onto his lap. Stan quickly drew his hand back, and to his absolute surprise, the author let out a whine at the loss of pressure around his neck. The constriction of his throat felt quite good, the lack of oxygen he felt even for five seconds was terrifyingly thrilling.

Both men looked at one another with wide eyes that were flooded with confusion, their jaws dropped open with shock. Stan was able to recover from that state quickly and he placed both hands around the author’s neck, making sure that he would put the most pressure to the sides and he gave it a firm squeeze. Bill let out a long, muffled moan as Stan choked him, his hips starting to move on their own, rutting against Stan with great force and speed. That brought his smirk back onto Stan face as he released Bill’s throat and kneeled between his legs once again.

He quickly undid his buckle and tapped his knees to get him raise his hips. He quickly peeled his trousers off of the author and leaned in, pressing his lips onto his member over his boxers. Bill let out a small moan and looked down at Stan that was licking a stripe along the boxers, leaving a damp, wide trail behind it.

“S-Stan…”

The man hooked his fingers into the waistband of the boxers and pulled them down enough for him to be able to free Bill. The hard member sprung out of its fabric prison and slapped Stan in the chin, smearing pre onto his skin with a wet noise. Stan grimaced at the noise before he took Bill into his hand and gave him a few strokes before wrapping his lips around the tip to peel off his foreskin. He grazed his teeth over the sensitive skin before he licked at his glands and started to pump his hand up and down at a steady pace.

Bill was already a mess before this, but now that he had Stan’s lips and hand wrapped around him, everything spun around him. He was overwhelmed with pleasure and Stan looked like he knew what he was doing. Well, he did not; but he did try his best. He licked a stripe down from his tip to the bottom of his shaft and gave one of his balls a small peck. Bill twitched from above him and Stan continued to place kisses all over him before taking him in once again, starting to slowly bob his head up and down.

The author let out a loud moan, rolling his head back with a gasp. He was sensitive since it had been weeks since the last time he got to relieve himself, but he didn’t know he was _this_ sensitive. Every movement Stan made felt incredible and he almost got thrown over the edge when the man’s free hand reached up and wrapped around his neck, giving him firm squeezes every few moments or so.

Bill looked down to see how Stan looked and the moment he did, he couldn’t help the growl that climbed up his throat and left his mouth as a loud, hoarse moan. The way Stan’s lips were stretched around him as he bobbed his head up and down, the friction he felt as he swallowed around him, the kitten licks on his tip… It definitely was a sin, a great one, Bill was sure. All he wanted to do was to fuck his mouth.

And he couldn’t hold back any longer; he knew that. So, he didn’t fight the urge. He grabbed Stan’s head and started to thrust up into his mouth, letting out loud moans every time his tip hit the back of the man’s throat. It was constricting around him, giving him more friction than just sucking and licking did.

Stan squeezed his eyes shut to prevent his tears from falling down his cheeks as Bill kept sliding in and out of his throat harshly, preventing him from breathing normally, making him gag almost every second. But he knew Bill was getting close, the tightening of his balls was the sign of that. He just needed to endure it for a while and help him reach his high as soon as possible.

So, he tried his best to breathe steadily through his nostrils and started to play with his balls, as his other hand tightened around the author’s throat. And soon enough, his hips’ thrusts started to stutter, and Bill started to let out even louder moans as best as he could. Stan gave him the last push by hollowing his cheeks and giving him one final squeeze in the shaft, and Bill’s hands got tangled in-between his wet curls and pulled him closer than ever, a hot, thick liquid started to run down his throat.

He tried to swallow every drop and pulled off when the twitching and spurting of Bill’s member was over. He licked over the shaft and his tip, tonguing in-between the neck and the foreskin to not leave anything behind.

Bill went limp after his high to pull himself together. He had been so stressed, so worked up until now that he could still see the white dots littering his vision from before. Stan rested his chin on one of his knees and started to massage his thighs to help him come down from his high. But he didn’t have to do that for so long since the liveliness of the author was back soon.

He looked down at Stan with such a loving, amazed look that Stan had to avoid his gaze to prevent himself from getting frustrated by his affection. But he couldn’t do that for long since Bill’s hands were on his forearms and in the process of pulling him up and back onto his lap, his hands grasping his arse before moving down.

“That was amazing, Stanley! Now, come here you.” The hands he had on the back of Stan’s thighs tightened and Stan yelped as the author rose to his feet.

“What-The Fuck!”

The author bounced Stan up to adjust his grip on the man, making him yelp with fright and wrap his legs around Bill’s waist before he crossed his ankles behind his back, slotting them into the subtle arch of his back.

“I think you deserve a reward for doing such a good job.” Stan swallowed thickly.

“Yeah?” Bill leaned over and captured Stan’s lips in a rough but short kiss.

“If you can take a bit of punishment first, yeah. A good boy like you deserves special treatment, baby.”

Stan could feel the way his heartbeats fastened with the praises Bill was giving to him. His insides felt bubbly and he moaned softly as Bill nipped down onto his collarbone. He then tapped his thighs and Stan unwrapped his legs before he got placed back onto the floor.

He pointed to the bed with a slight frown on his face as he began to peel his clothes off, his hooded eyes wholly transfixed on Stan’s body. The man quickly stepped closer to the bed with a questioning look in his eyes since he didn’t know what the author wanted to do to him. Bill saw his confusion when he was only in his crooked boxers; he walked towards him and turned him around so that he was bent over the bed, his chest pushed against the mattress, his arse in the air.

He slowly unbuckled Stan’s thigh straps to peel his underwear off his legs and pushed it down until it was pooling around them. He pressed a kiss onto the sweaty arch of his back and kneaded the hairy flesh of his thighs for a while, savouring the soft moans and gasps he ripped out of Stan. Bill then slowly drew his hands back and raised his hand over his head.

There was a loud smacking sound that echoed in the room as Bill’s hand met the flesh of his arse. The slight stinging pain after the spank felt kind of good. The author’s hand kept switching between the cheeks and Stan gasped and jolted with every single spank. The spanking stopped for a moment and Stan raised his head from where was buried into the mattress and that was when Bill used his both hands to just grab at his arse before hitting both cheeks at the same time.

That ripped a surprised, pained and loud groan from him since there was already a stinging pain on both of them, and the last set of hits weren’t the gentlest ones. Bill looked down to study and admire the way his arse was tinted with a beautiful reddish pink now. He held his hands close to his cheeks and smiled as he could feel the heat radiating from the bruises. It was a nice feeling, to see them, to feel them, but he knew Stan was in a tad pain. He wanted the man to forget about it. He wanted Stan to feel good.

So, he grabbed his cheeks and started to pepper the slightly irritated skin with gentle kisses, chuckling to himself at the way the hair decorating them tickled his chin and lips. He then slowly spread them apart and started to lick over the bruises to try to soothe him as best as he could with his hands in the way.

Stan shuddered with the warm tongue that came in contact with his burning arse, his thighs started to tremble with consent. Bill kept on licking long, wide stripes all over his cheeks before he moved down and traced the curve of his arse, starting from his tailbone; he licked down until he reached his rim.

He cried out in pleasure when the author’s tongue brushed against his opening, the hot, wet surface of it brushed against his entrance. He pushed back against Bill’s face without realising it, desperately seeking more of that feeling. Bill let out a low chuckle against his skin before he traced the outline of his rim, dragging his wet tip around the tight ring of muscle. He teased it before sucked on Stan with a delicious pressure that made Stan moan out loud.

The author finally pushed his tongue in, penetrating him; he started to slide his tongue across his inner walls. Stan arched his back and pushed back once again, forcing Bill to keep him in place. After he was sure that the grip he had on the man was hard enough, he started to slide his tongue as gentle as he could, slowly starting to explore his insides. Stan moaned, his member twitching from between his legs from both lack of attention and ecstasy of the feeling of something different and incredible entering him.

After a long while of only licking and preparing Stan, he started to fuck him, thrusting his tongue in and out of Stan as best as he could without losing contact with his skin. Stan sobbed with pleasure as Bill’s tongue worked him open, making him shudder all over.

He forced himself to straighten his position a tad and reached down between his legs to palm at himself, trying to seek something to feel friction around down there. Bill pulled away a bit to breathe before he went back in and just as he was inserting his tongue back inside, he saw Stan’s hand pumping himself as the man moaned loudly.

He grabbed a hold of his wrist and pried his hand off of himself. Stan let out a whine, which Bill replied with a harsh spank that made Stan cry out and shudder with the pain that spread across all over his body as jolt waves.

“Did I give you the permission to touch yourself?” Bill’s voice sounded low, threatening and somehow it begs to be disobeyed. It shoots a jolt down to the man’s spine with a tint of fear as a plus one.

“You don’t touch yourself unless I tell you to.”

He went back to fucking him with his tongue, licking along his walls, feeling the way Stan tried to desperately clench around him. He hummed and sucked on the ring as he kept fucking him until he saw Stan palm at himself once again.

He pulled away with a long sigh, stared down at the way Stan’s rim gaped and twitched around nothing, wanting, seeking something to suck in. the man whined at the loss of it until Bill grabbed him and rolled him over before throwing him onto the mattress, making him bounce for a few times.

But the man still wanted to come. He was nearly there; he could feel the heat in his abdomen, begging to be released. He gave Bill a lazy grin before he wrapped a hand around himself and started to chase his pleasure, moaning loudly all the while. Bill really did want to sit back and watch as the man jerked off, but he wasn’t quite done with him yet. In fact, he was far from done.

He reached over and, once again, pried Stan’s hand away from his irritated looking, swollen, twitching member. The man cursed as Bill pinned his hands onto the mattress above his head, glaring up at him.

“Stan-”

“But I need it, Bill!”

“Okay, then.”

“Oh?”

His questioning hum turned to a hiss of bliss as Bill let go of one of his wrists and held them in place with one hand, the other trailing down his chest and abdomen. Avoiding touching where Stan wanted him to touch, he raised his hand to his mouth and licked his palm before wrapping his hand around Stan, watching him arch his back and buckle up closer to the touch with a loud moan.

He started to quickly pump his hand up and down and slide his thumb over his tip every now and then, gathering and smearing pre to use it as lube. As his motions continued, Stan felt himself get closer and closer to bursting, and his moans started to get more and more vocal.

Bill patiently waited and worked his hand, waiting for the man to be thrown over the edge. And when he felt the man’s balls tighten, he stopped his motions and squeezed his base. Stan cried out with dissatisfaction and fury, his toes curling up into the bed with frustration.

“Bill-”

“I never said you could come Stanley.” He leaned over and whispered into his ear. Stan whined again as he tried to fuck Bill’s hand. But the author let go of him and smirked, shaking his head.

“You need to work for it first, baby. And have you already forgotten what you needed to call me?”

“I didn’t, Daddy…” Stan whispered as he wrapped his arms tightly around Bill’s neck.

“P-Please let me come!”

“Then suck.” After his order, Bill leaned down to kiss along his neck as he shoved two digits into Stan’s mouth.

The man stood still for a while as he processed what was being wanted from him, then moaned around the fingers and started to swirl his tongue around and in-between them, sucking on the fingers eagerly.

Bill kept sucking and biting along his collarbones and licking over the leather harness as Stan bobbed his head up and down on the fingers, even guiding another one inside his mouth to coat it with spit until they were completely slippery and ready.

He hummed with satisfaction when he saw how slick his fingers were and leaned down to place a reward peck onto Stan’s chapped lips. He then let go of his wrists fully and stepped back, motioning Stan to turn around.

The man complied and quickly got on all fours, arching his back the way he knew Bill liked seeing. He muttered quiet praises under his breath as he stepped closer once again and started to circle Stan’s hole. It twitched underneath the tip of his fingers, making the man whine. He finally gave in to Stan’s pleads and slipped one finger inside, starting to thrust it in and out without waiting for the man adjust to it.

Stan let out a groan and shuddered as Bill crooked his finger and dragged it along his inner walls, lightly grazing his blunt nails against the sticky tissue. Stan let out a choked sob and thrust backwards, trying to feel more of Bill, he grinded down onto his finger.

“Eager, huh?” Stan whined as an answer before he felt another finger’s tip poke at his rim, making its entrance afterwards. He gasped and panted as Bill lost no time in waiting for Stan to adjust and started to scissor his fingers, stretching him open more.

Bill thrust his fingers knuckle-deep into and stopped his motions before he leaned in and licked a stripe from the back of his shoulder to his neck over the leather harness, pressing his lips against the shell of his ear with a smirk.

“When I add the third one, I want you to show me how much you want me, Stanley.”

Stan groaned and nodded with a soft gasp, spreading his legs a tad more for Bill. The author looked down at him and smiled, pressing his lips against the small of his back before pulling away. His second hand palmed the man, distracting him momentarily as he pushed in the third digit with very little resistance from Stan.

Crooking his fingers inside and dragging the pads of them along the man’s twitching inner walls, he ripped a long, loud moan from Stan as the man shuddered underneath Bill. The author gasped when he felt Stan stretch and tighten around him.

As he had agreed, Stan took a deep breath and started to move his hips back and forth, grinding down onto the author’s fingers, he tried to find a steady place. Bill helped Stan and grabbed his waist, guiding him onto his digits as he kept crooking and dragging them.

Stan gasped before letting out a loud moan when Bill finally found his prostate and angled his hips, thrusting back against his fingers, aiming his prostate every time. He panted, pushing his sweaty forehead into the mattress as Bill kept abusing his spot. He was leaking so much that there was a thin line of pre that connected the small pool underneath him to his aching member. Stan wanted to feel Bill now, and he wanted it bad. He knew he was stretched enough, and ready for the author.

“Si-Daddy… I’m ready!”

Bill stopped his fingers and the hand he had on the man’s waist stop Stan’s. He grabbed Stan, not minding that his one hand was slick and slippery which made the man only grimace a tad, and gently rolled him onto his back. Stan blinked up at him; one eyebrow cocked, and spread his legs open, thinking that Bill wanted to be in this position. But the author shook his head and grabbed Stan by the shoulders, helping him sit up straight before him. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Bill shook his head once again, cutting Stan off.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Stanley?” He asked with a gentle tone, a worried smile stretched across his lips. The man rolled his eyes and nodded his head before he leaned in to kiss the author. But Bill wasn’t satisfied with the answer.

“Stan, if you want me to fuck you, you need to be a good boy and tell me properly.” He leaned in as well and ghosted his lips over Stan’s. “I need to hear you say it. Tell me what you want.”

Stan didn’t answer through his words, disobeying the author. He just smirked down at him and placed his hands on top of his shoulders to pull him closer, pressing their lips together. Bill tried to pull away, but Stan kept kissing him before he suddenly and absurdly pushed the author back, watching him fall down onto his back with a slight bounce.

He propped himself up on his elbows and glared up at Stan once he was steady on the bed and tried to scold him. But his words got lined in his throat when the man hooked his fingertips inside the author’s boxers’ waistband and peeled the clothing off. Bill came bouncing free from his restraint, swollen, red and leaking. Stan licked his lips and pressed them on top of his tip, making Bill groan and fall back down onto the bed. Stan smiled up at him and left the bed, rummaged around the cupboards until he found some lube and condoms, and went back to the bed.

Bill was waiting for him with raised eyebrows and didn’t complain when Stan just ripped the condom and rolled it around the author, making sure to drag his fingernails from the tip and down the shaft gently.

The author shuddered with pleasure, his hips buckling up when Stan gave him a kitten lick just down the shaft before he straightened his posture, popping the lube bottle open. He squirted a fair amount of the cold, slippery liquid onto his palm and immediately started to stroke Bill, not giving it time for the lube to warm up. He quickly pumped Bill a few times before he straddled the author’s thighs and raised himself on his knees.

Grabbing the erect, twitching member, he carefully lined himself up with him, not wanting him to slip away at the last second. Shuddering slightly, he arched his back when he felt Bill’s tip probe at his entrance. He took a deep breath and slowly started to sink down onto the author. He flinched when the thickness of Bill started to stretch him open, a quiet, pained groan escaping his mouth.

Bill noticed the man’s discomfort and reached up to grab Stan’s waist and started to caress his skin as praises and encouraging words flooded out of his mouth like prayers. The man whimpered at the praises and gained enough strength to sink himself down even further, but he stopped mid-way. The pain of the stretch was too much; his eyes were starting to well up.

He felt like he was slowly getting ripped apart from the inside out. The stretching, the pain, and the fullness he was feeling inside… It was so _there_ and so real when he wasn’t intoxicated. He was living through every sensation to the max, and that made his experience much more painful than he had been informed for.

The author saw how much pain Stan was in and trailed his hands up along his sides and down his arms until he had reached his hands and slotted their fingers together.

“I know you can do this, baby. But if you’re in pain, we should stop.” He guided Stan’s hands close to his mouth and peppered his knuckles with kisses. Stan felt his chest tighten at the author’s gentleness and his cheeks start to get warm.

Shaking his head to get himself together, Stan took a deep, shaky breath and sunk down rest of the way as he bent down to kiss Bill. He felt like the air in his lungs got knocked out of them when he finally bottomed out. It was so full that he felt like he’s getting completely ripped apart by Bill. His pained groan got muffled inside of the author’s mouth as the man tried to adjust to the sudden intruder that made his rim feel like it was on fire.

Bill started to caress the sides of Stan’s hands with his thumb as he kissed the man back, sliding his tongue across his bottom lip before pushing it inside the man’s mouth. Stan hummed as he got distracted from the pain he felt deep inside of him with the help of the feeling of the author’s tongue sliding across his own, licking at the back of his teeth, nipping onto his lower lip expertly.

He slowly pulled away and the pressure he felt inside increased when he was completely sitting on top of Bill once again. Despite the author having the condom on, Stan still could feel the author’s every vein, every single pulse of the lukewarm member that made Stan roll his eyes to the back of his head, feeling like he was buried deep inside of an ocean of pure pleasure.

“Are you okay?”

“’m fine…”

“Can I move?”

Stan nodded slowly, swallowing a few times to get rid of the dryness of his throat. Bill smiled and grabbed the either side of the man’s hips and grinded against him, drawing a long groan from the back of his throat. They just grinded against one another for a while, giving Stan the time even though he said he didn’t need it, until Stan pushed Bill onto his back and placed his hands on top of the author’s abdomen.

“If you think this is moving, Bill, I don’t know what-Fuck!” The man’s words got cut off when Bill thrust up into Stan, slamming against him, drawing a loud moan with a string of curses out of him.

“What did you call me, Stanley?”

The author thrust upwards again, making sure to pull the man’s arse down onto himself at the same time. Stan thought he was about to black out as his vision got clouded with millions of blinking white dots, a scream of pleasure ripping from the back of his throat.

“I-I’m so sorry, Daddy. I won’t-” Bill thrust again, cutting Stan off with a smirk.

“You need to fuck yourself on me to make up for it.”

Stan swallowed thickly before adjusting the hands he had on the author’s abdomen and rose up on his knees before he slammed back down. Both men let out loud moans as Stan kept moving his hips up and down, occasionally changing the angle to find his prostate to make this experience better for himself.

Bill looked up and watched the way Stan bounced up and down on himself with loud gasps and groans, adoring the way his cheeks flushed, loving the way his hair bounced up and down to the rhythm of the man as well. And without realising it, the author grasped his hips tighter and started to slam his hips into Stan harshly.

The man cried out, his jaw dropping open with pure bliss when Bill’s tip finally started to abuse his prostate once in almost every three thrusts. He tried his best to keep up with the author’s pace, but when he was feeling this good, it didn’t seem like it was a possible thing to do. He felt like a volcano of pure bliss and ecstasy had just been erupted inside of him. His vision was completely blurred and clouded with his tears, his throat felt dry from gasping and breathing heavily.

He let out a gasp when Bill thrust up into him magnificently hard and he lost his balance, he wrapped his arms around Bill’s neck, changing the angle once again. And, that was it; Stan lost it. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he threw his head back, letting out a scream. The fast snapping and thrusting of Bill’s hips, the abuse of his prostate, the tight grip on his hips… It was all too much, so full. He felt like he was going insane with the amount of sheer pleasure he was in.

Bill stopped the movements of his hips for a moment and Stan whined, trying to get him to start thrusting once again. But the author ignored his whines and grabbed the back of one of his thighs, the other arm sneaking securely around his back, Bill changed their positions and rolled them forwards, attaching his lips onto Stan’s throat once the man’s back had hit against the bed.

Stan moaned, making Bill softly chuckle at the way his throat vibrated underneath his lips. He pulled back, the hand he still had on Stan’s leg guided it over his shoulder, he adjusted their position before starting his harsh thrusts once again. The man scrambled around to find something to hold onto, wrapping his other leg around the author’s waist as his one hand rolled a fistful of sheets between his fingers, the other grasping one of Bill’s upper arms.

The slight pulling he felt in his leg muscles felt like nothing as Bill kept abusing his prostate with every thrust, his constant praises and moans, the pressure he felt deep inside of him. It was all too much, yet Stan never wanted it to stop. It was overwhelming in the best way possible. He could feel the heat and the familiar pressure pooling inside his abdomen.

“I-I’m so close-Fuck!”

Bill nodded, agreeing with a loud groan as he picked up the pace, now hammering into Stan like a sex machine. Stan saw the white dots start to scatter all around his vision once again as his mouth lolled open, throwing his head back with a loud moan. It was everything he had ever wanted up until this point, yet still he needed more. Even when Bill was right there, inside of him, on top of him, surrounding him, he still craved more.

He took a deep breath and tightened himself around Bill as he reached up and pressed their lips together, starting a teeth and tongue filled, clumsy kiss. They savoured one another’s moans, licked and bit at their lips.

Bill felt like he was so close. The fast pace he had going on had faltered ever so slightly and the way Stan tightened around him wasn’t helping. He felt so good, so complete with Stan underneath him, moaning and gasping his name with Bill’s marks scattered all around him. He felt proud. He was the one who had done this to Stan. He was the one who had made the man feel this good. He was the one Stan wanted.

He went in for another kiss, wrapping a hand around Stan as he picked his pace up one last time, feeling his high coming closer and closer with every second and thrust.

“I’m so close, baby…” He whispered into Stan’s mouth, licking at his bottom lip.

“M-Me too-Ah, Bill!”

The author didn’t even try to correct Stan this time. He just kept the pumping of his hand and the pace of his thrusts until they were both sent over the edge. Both men screamed out with pleasure as they pulled one another the closest they had ever gotten, their bodies shaking with the force of their orgasms.  
Stan spilled streaks of warm, thick in-between their bodies, painting their chests with a slippery white as Bill spilled into the condom around him, burying himself deep inside the man’s heat.

He felt like his legs have turned to jelly when he had finally managed to come down from his high. He looked down at Stan with a wide smile and pressed his forehead against Stan’s. They were completely soaked with sweat and spit, their chests pushing against together with every breath they took.

Bill stirred, accidentally pushing himself a tad deeper into Stan, making him let out a small whimper. It was far from an uncomfortable one though, it sounded like Stan had loved it. So, Bill rolled his hips again, feeling himself slowly starting to get hard inside Stan. The man panted, feeling the pressure increase from inside of him. It was too much yet felt brilliant. He was too sensitive from having just come, but this felt so good. He rolled his hips down against Bill’s and moaned, taking a hold on the author’s arms.

“More, please.”

Bill wasn’t about to ignore his pleads. He had waited for this for so long, and he would rip away every smallest piece from Stan he could without hurting him. And they went again, never stopping going again and again until they were both satisfied, until the bed sheets were completely soaked with various bodily fluids.

Stan mumbled something about him washing the sheets in the morning as he threw the blanket over them and then himself, falling asleep almost instantly with exhaustion. Bill stayed up a tad late, watching the man sleep with a small smile on his lips.

He was damn lucky to have someone like Stan, someone so beautiful, so sexy, so thoughtful and nice. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if the man hadn’t found him. He had been going through a lot, and Stanley had shown up at the best time.

Bill thought the man was a literal angel. And he’d argue with anyone that tried to disagree with him.


	9. I’ll Take Care of You.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to add some domestic fluff into the story, and thus, this chapter was created.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> *  
> (Also, "Dark Gods" is a real novel written by T.E.D. Klein. I highly suggest you give it a chance, but for now, I will be using it as Bill's latest book that had gotten nominated to the award in the story. Though there isn't any references about the novel itself, I immediately thought about it when I was searching for a book for Bill.)

(The Next Morning-Noon-)

The rising sun cast a yellowish rosy halo across the blue morning sky; it shone softly on the city streets, poured through the windows of the apartments, warm, crisp and clear, clearly missing the two men in the room that still managed to sleep like a pair of hippos.

Still, that didn’t last for too long since the sun started to pour through the thin lines in the blinds, as a desperate attempt in warming up the cool room, and to wake the men up. Its first victim was obviously Stan, since the man was the closest to the window.

He stirred, suddenly feeling the tiredness he had felt all over his body start to fade away. Slowly and reluctantly, he felt the heaviness of his eyelids leave. He raised his head from where he had fallen asleep, his face buried into the blanket.

He blinked a few times, rubbing his knuckles onto his eyes to get the sleep out of them. The effect of his heavy slumber was still present, but he had finally begun to start being aware of his surroundings. He rolled onto his back, winching with the throbbing pain he had felt in his backside, then realised he almost had no feeling from below his waist.

The man groaned, stretched his arms above his head and yawned, feeling his eyes water with the lazy sleepiness he still had glooming over himself. But as he lied still there, he had just got aware of the coolness of the air that was in contrast with the warmth of the sunlight that was progressively creeping inside.

He grimaced, feeling the dampness of last night all over himself, and then soon smelling it in the air of the room. It smelled like sex; like sweat, come and something else he couldn’t quite wrap his head around. He sniffed his nose, throwing his arm to his side, aiming the other man that lied beside himself, still like a corpse.

“Bill?” He got no response. Stan tried shaking him as he yelled this time.

“Bill! Bill!” He still couldn’t get any response. He furrowed his eyebrows with irritation before nudging the man gently.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, William, wake up!”

“Mhm? Stan?”

Good fucking lord. Stan felt his eyes widen at the lowness of the author’s voice as he was taken aback by it. He wasn’t expecting him to sound _that_ sensual. He shook his head to get himself together and poked the author with his fist a few times until he got a small whine from him.

“Come on. Wake up.” He turned to face Stan for a second before he groaned and lazily turned back, stirring around to find his comfortable position once again, ignoring Stan’s irritated voice that kept calling his name.

“…What time is it...?” Stan rolled his eyes and poked the author again, this time a lot harsher than before since his patience was seriously wearing thin.

“The clock is on your side, Bill. _You_ look at the clock.” Bill just stirred. “Come on, asshole. I can’t feel my legs, I need your help.”

He didn’t respond again, he just nodded as he mumbled something under his breath before he grabbed Stan’s hand, making a half-attempt at pulling the man closer to himself. He must’ve forgotten Stan’s statement from a few seconds ago, or he just couldn’t process it since he actually managed to pull him a tad close until Stan swatted his hand away with a pained groan.

“I just fucking told you I couldn’t fucking move!” He shouted, punching his shoulder as hard as he could without moving his body, making Bill cry out with pain. The man was stronger than he had thought.

“Wake up!”

The author quickly rose himself on his elbows, looking around himself with confusion, then he looked down at Stan like a kicked puppy. The man stared right back, a subtle frown on his face. Bill gave him an apologetic smile and yawned before he turned completely to face Stan and grabbed his hand. Stan watched him play with his fingers for a while before he slowly re-adjusted his position, being extra careful not to pull a muscle or hurt himself. Bill watched him for a while before he slightly pursed his lips and tilted his head towards Stan’s side, closing his eyes afterwards. Stan looked down at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“What are you doing?” Bill opened one of his eyes and tilted his head up and towards Stan more.

“’m asking for a kiss.” Stan caught his face with palm as he shook his head violently, pushing the author’s face away with a deep scowl.

“Stan, what are _you_ doing?” He asked, irritated, and grabbed Stan’s hand to get it off of his face to properly furrow his eyebrows at the man. Stan chuckled at his struggle and shook his head again.

“We both have morning breath. No way in hell am I kissing you like this.” The author gave him a smirk, a glint in his eyes.

“Stan, I’ll gladly brush my teeth but since you _can’t_ walk for some reason-”

“You asked for it, _Sir_.”

He grabbed Bill by the neck and pulled him closer to himself, pressing their lips together. The author hummed against his lips contently, and carefully moved his body up on top of Stan, his one hand cupping his cheek. He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip, asking to deepen the kiss. But Stan kept his lips tightly shut, clearly not wanting to let Bill in.

Bill huffed before gently pressing his thumb against his cheek, pressuring right onto the gap between his upper and lower sets of teeth. Stan let out a muffled groan before he slowly opened his mouth, gasping softly at how fast Bill had acted to shove his tongue inside. He froze for a second before he shrugged and moaned into his mouth, wrapping his arms around his neck and eventually started to kiss him back.

They lazily made out for a while, no ulterior intentions behind it at all. They were just kissing, just touching, not intending to let things escalate. Bill smiled into the kiss before he slightly pulled away, gently bumping their noses together. Stan felt his chest tighten at how genuinely Bill was smiling down at him, at how natural and how right this felt.

He watched as the author pulled away more before he pressed his lips onto the man’s left cheek, then onto his jaw, then nuzzled his nose into the crook of his neck, making Stan squirm a tad with a small chuckle following. He looked up at Stan’s face with a fond smile, admiring how relaxed and casual he looked at the moment. He never wanted that smile to vanish from his face; he wanted to be the reason behind it, to always make him happy.

His hair was a mess, gracefully pooled on the pillow he was on, sheet marks on his pink-tinted cheeks, slightly narrowed, sleepy eyes, and a small smile tugged onto his lips. After a while of watching, he realised that he had loved seeing Stan like this. Smiling, chuckling, and cuddling with Bill. He really wouldn’t mind waking up to this for the rest of his life. Stan looked down at him as well, giving him a teasing yet questioning look.

“What?” Bill smiled and propped himself up, gently adjusting himself on top of Stan.

“Nothing. How about breakfast?” Stan rolled his eyes.

“Bill, I literally can’t feel my le-”

“I know. That’s why _I_ asked _you_.” Stan smiled and rolled his eyes again; but this time he had a fond expression on his face. He reached up and pressed his lips onto Bill’s softly.

“Fuck yes.”

Bill gave him a wink as he got off of Stan and put on his boxer before he walked to the door. He stopped when he had taken a step out of it and turned around, giving Stan a huge, shit-eating grin.

“Don’t go anywhere.” He yelped and ran out of the room as a pillow flew at him, going at 30 mph with a good aim.

“I hate you.”

The author carefully stacked the plate full of scrambled eggs, the two mugs of coffee, the two pieces of toast and a few napkins onto the metal tray, leaving the pan and other things he had used to clean later. Now, he needed to get to Stan. He slowly walked down the hallway and pushed the door open with his left foot, silently thanking himself for not closing it completely and walked in, minding the pillow on the floor.

The man was in a similar position, but it was obvious that he had moved, and now he had a book in his hands, in the process of turning the page he had just finished reading. When he heard the door, he lowered it and looked up at Bill, his eyes widening with the sight he saw. He then furrowed his eyebrows and stared at his face blankly, speaking up with a flat voice.

“Am I dead?” Bill’s steps stuttered for a second before he tilted his head to the side with furrowed eyebrows, reflecting his worried confusion.

“Wh… No?” Stan’s eyebrows cocked upwards.

“You _actually_ made breakfast for us?”

“Well, if you can call this a breakfast, yeah, I did.”

The author blushed with embarrassment, looking down at the tray. He had remembered the breakfast Stan once made for him, and compared the two in his head, thinking how pathetic his own looked at the moment. Stan smiled and put the book down gently, shaking his head like he had read Bill’s mind.

“Look, I don’t care what you made, Bill. At least you made something and proved me that you aren’t an entirely useless slob.” Bill playfully glared at him; a ghost of a smile tugged at the tip of his lips.

“Hey! I’m providing you money for you to survive and I expect some respect for it.”

Stan chuckled and shook his head, grabbing the tray from Bill before the author sat down onto the bed beside him. He couldn’t help the content moan that escaped his lips when he saw the two mugs of coffee and he grabbed both of them after carefully placing the tray on his thighs. Bill raised his eyebrows and watched the man take sips from both of the mugs with a fond smile.

“One was mi-” Stan snapped his neck to the author’s side with a fake-frown, shaking his head.

“Nope, I deserve it after last ni-” he cut himself before furrowing his eyebrows for a moment, thinking about what he should say. “-morning? You have quite the stamina for a forty years old man.”

“Yeah?” Bill nervously laughed, not sure if that was supposed to be a snarky comment or a compliment.

“But I’m stealing one.”

They started to dig into the eggs and the toasts, occasionally stealing glances at one another. This was a strange thing for them to do; since this was the first time they had ever eaten like this: at home (except for the one time Stan made breakfast since Bill was sick), on the bed and after sex.

But it certainly felt nice, a needed change even. Bill’s eyes then darted towards the book that had been neatly placed beside the man’s hip, trying to read the back of it but since he didn’t have his glasses on, all he could see were slight white blurry writings on a black-brown background.

“Fo, wfut her ho wheadhing? (So, what were you reading?)” Stan gave him a look with a slight grimace when a piece of egg flew out of his mouth and landed on top of the blanket. The author chuckled and washed down his bite with a big sip of coffee that he had successfully stolen back from the man and repeated his question, this time with a clear voice.

“What were you reading?” The man grabbed the book and turned the cover for Bill to read. It was Dark Gods. He smiled, pride filling his chest.

“Do you like it?”

“Bill, I just read twenty three pages. I have no fucking clue.” But he still looked down at the book with a subtle smile and caressed the cover.

“Can I take it home? I’d like to read it in peace.”

“Aren’t you in peace right now?” Stan shook his head with a smirk.

“I’m in misery.”

He looked down at the brown cover of the book once again and took the last sip from his coffee, his eyes widening at the horror he felt washing over him. _He had forgotten about his work_. He almost dropped the mug as he cursed loudly and pushed Bill back down onto the bed harshly, making the author yelp and try to steady his coffee as best as he could, managing to only spill a few drops of the hot drinks by some miracle.

“Stanley, what the fu-”

“Shut up, what day is today?”

“Uh, I think it’s Wednesday…?” Stan’s eyes widened even more with his increasing horror.

“What time is it?” Bill looked at the clock on his side and his eyes widened as well, having just realised why Stan was acting like this.

“It’s 10:43”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ They’re going to fucking _kill_ me!” Stan tried to get out of the bed, groaning in pain when he moved too fast and a sting shot up from his rim to all around his body.

“Where the fuck is my phone?”

Bill scrambled out of the bed and ran out of the room and returned after a few moments with the man’s phone in his hands. Stan snatched it away from his hands harshly with his shaking ones and dialled his boss’ number, placing two fingers against his throat to make his voice sound hoarse and quiet.

He had a stressful conversation with the woman and she finally believed when Stan started to add fake coughs and sneezes every few moments, making up a pathetic excuse that he ‘didn’t want to sneeze in the coffees as he made them’.

When he had finally hung up, he let out a long relieved breath and looked up at the author who looked down at him with side eyes. He groaned and fell back onto the bed, another whimper ripping from the back of his throat. Bill silently grabbed the cutlery and the mugs, carefully placing them onto the tray. Stan opened his eyes and looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow.

“What?”

“You lie well.” Stan sighed, nodding slowly.

“I do.” Another, deeper sigh made its way out of his tightly pressed together lips. “ _I had to_.”

“Was it your…”

Bill didn’t have to complete the sentence for both of them to put two and two together. Stan already knew why he felt down, and Bill certainly wasn’t stupid. He studied Stan’s face with worried eyes. He hated the frown on it; he wanted the man to smile, for him to never feel down.

Leaving the room without a word, he quickly put the tray onto the kitchen island, pushing the cleaning of everything aside, once again. His first task was to take care of Stan, to make him feel comfortable once again. He went to the bathroom and gathered the things he needed for Stan’s aftercare that he had abandoned doing the last night and went back into the room. He found the man lying on his side, his knees bent over as close to his stomach as he could without hurting himself.

His slightly teary eyes trailed up and found Bill’s, a small smile appearing on his face when he saw the things the author carried. He returned the smile and approached Stan’s side, bending down over the bed. He pointed at the man’s lower region.

“May I?”

Stan looked away for a moment before he slowly nodded and spread his legs open as Bill sat down beside him. He was swollen and red, the irritated and swollen muscle ring twitching every now and then. He frowned, thinking if he had gone too far and had hurt Stan instead of making him feel good. He then shook his head, knowing that overthinking stuff now wouldn’t help Stan; he opened the kit he had gotten and grabbed a sterile wipe. Slowly dabbing it against him, his eyes darted between his rim and the man’s face, ready to stop if the man looked uncomfortable. But aside from a slight twitch of his eyebrows for times, nothing majorly alarming happened as he gently applied the ointment.

He subconsciously started to massage the man’s thighs when Stan placed his legs on top of Bill’s with a content hum. He just kept on gently massaging the stiff muscles and occasionally changed his hands’ positions all around his legs. Stan kept on humming and softly moaning, nothing sexual, just with relief.

“Do you want to take a bath? It’ll probably help your legs.” Stan opened his eyes slowly since his eyelids felt very heavy with how relaxed he felt, and he let out a small chuckle.

“You probably should’ve done this after the bath. You just tired yourself for nothing.” Bill shrugged.

“I can do it again afterwards. I really don’t mind.” He suggested before laughing at how Stan’s cheeks got tinted with a beautiful shade of pink as his eyes shot open with embarrassment.

“No.”

* * *

Bill drew the bath for Stan before he helped the man up, wrapping an arm around his waist as Stan put his arm over his shoulder, keeping the man close to him as they slowly stepped out of the room. They carefully crossed the hall and stepped into the bathroom with slow steps, taking a break every now and then whenever Stan winched in pain.

The man sighed contently when he smelled the flower he loved the most, a small smile appearing on his face. He turned to Bill with a playful frown when he had successfully lowered himself into the bubbly warm water in the tub, shaking his head.

“Lavender?” Bill chuckled, a tad embarrassed, with a shrug.

“What? I like to smell good.” He turned away before pausing and looking back down at Stan, silently asking if the man wanted his help or not. He bit down onto his bottom lip before avoiding Bill’s gentle gaze and shook his head.

“No, I think I can handle that.” The author tried his best to hide his disappointment and nodded before he turned away, stopped again by the door frame to look back at Stan.

“I’m going to do the dishes. You can spend as much as time in there. You deserved that.”

“I can do-” Bill rolled his eyes.

“Shut up and enjoy this for once Stan. I’m your Sugar Daddy for a reason. I want my baby to feel good when he’s with me.”

Stan hated those last two sentences as much as he had loved hearing them. He hated them because the domestic little bubble of pure imagination he had created in his mind to savour this sweet side of Bill was blown by the author himself in a matter of seconds. But he also loved them because it showed the man that Bill actually cared about him. Well, to some extent, at least.

Still, he listened and did as Bill had said; taking his sweet time washing his hair. Brushing his hair between his fingers, he massaged his scalp as he trying to convince himself that he had actually deserved this. He knew that had done so much for Bill, and now he got something in return other than the money he got at the end of every week. But it was hard.

He didn’t think he was good enough for Bill. He didn’t think he was putting all of his effort in to be entirely good for him. He thought that when the author finally had had enough of Stan, he was just going to leave him. Well, that was inevitable; someday they _would_ cut things off. And when he had that fact carved into his mind, it was very hard to focus on the moment and try to enjoy what he had in hand.

He sighed, his hands dropping down from in-between his soap-covered locks and into the water, splashing Stan’s face with now-lukewarm water and lavender scented bubbles. Pressing his knees close against his chest, he realised that the slight pain he felt inside of him wasn’t as apparent as it was before. He placed his chin on one of his knees as he hugged his legs, rolling himself into a ball to become smaller inside the tub, watching the water slightly overflow and pour down from the sides of the tub.

He shifted his gaze then, now staring at the rainbow reflecting bubbles, he wished that he would just disappear into a million of them right now, aimlessly floating in mid-air until he had popped or fallen into the water, only to pop sooner or later in the end.

“Stan?” The man’s eyes widened, and he yelped with fear, he flinched in the tub, causing more water to overflow and splash with his sudden movement, pouring down the sides. Bill furrowed his eyebrows, looking Stan up and down.

“Are-Are you okay?” Stan gave him a very forced, very tight-lipped smile as he nodded, making the frown on the author’s face deepen with his increasing worry.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Bill. I _am_ okay.”

Bill didn’t look like he was convinced but he didn’t push the topic further, much to Stan’s liking. He just shrugged before he walked into the room and in front of the mirror above the sink. He crouched over the cupboard below the sink and took out his shaving gel and a classic razor.

He covered the stubble on his chin, his neck and his cheeks with the white foam as Stan rinsed his hair and went over his body thoroughly with Bill’s black shower loofah before rinsing the soap off of himself. He carefully stepped out of the tub and slowly dabbed at the droplets before starting to dry his hair.

Once he was done, he stepped closer to the author who was now washing the remaining foam off of his face. Stan patiently waited for him to dry his face and finally made eye-contact with the author when he had straightened his position through the mirror.

He turned to face Stan and gave him a warm smile, not letting his eyes fall down to his body to give the man as much as much as privacy as possible in this situation. Wasn’t easy, Bill was very tempted to let his eyes dart down and just get a glimpse of the body he had adored and practically worshipped, but he kept his self-control and just stared at his face. Stan felt happy about the author’s (pathetically)visible effort.

“I have an unused toothbrush,” he said before once again bending down to the cupboard. “Do you want it?”

Stan gave him a smile that the author unfortunately couldn’t see and let himself enjoy the way he could see the muscles move on his back, his eyes roaming around the smooth skin.

“Fuck yes. I feel disgusting.” Bill let out a chuckle.

“Even after showering?”

“ _Especially_ after showering.” Stan grimaced. “Do you know how fucking weird it feels to have your mouth dirty when your body is clean?”

Bill just smiled and took the packet that held two toothbrushes inside, ripped it open and gave one to Stan. The man took it and started to brush his teeth violently, clearly really hating not cleaning them even for just a few hours. He then spat out the mint flavoured foam of the toothpaste and cleaned the toothbrush, placing it in the holder to wash his mouth. Bill didn’t know why but that small act made him feel very happy.

He grabbed his own brush from the holder and began brushing his teeth just as Stan had finished drying the area around his mouth before he stepped towards the door, the author’s eyes on his arse. Fuck privacy, he had held back before, now he let himself watch the way his hips swayed side to side just slightly, the way the muscles of his legs contracted and relaxed with every step.

He came to his senses when the foam in his mouth started to dribble down his chin; he quickly closed his mouth and turned to the mirror, seeing hoe disgusting he looked, he started to chuckle at himself before he shook his head and clean his mouth. When he was back in the room, he saw that Stan was already in his old boxers and back on the bed, reading the book. He slowly stalked towards the man and snatched the book from his hands with a smirk, holding it above his head to prevent Stan from acting to grab it back. The man gave him a deep glare.

“Bill, what the fuck are you doing?”

The author didn’t reply and carefully placed a piece of paper he had retrieved from his nightstand in between the open pages before putting it on the nightstand beside him. He then turned to Stan and gently rolled him on his back before he carefully lied on top of the man, placing his cheek against his chest.

Stan froze from underneath him and stayed completely still until Bill huffed, irritated, and grabbed the man’s limp yet somehow stiff arms and placed them on his back with difficulty before nudging Stan’s jaw with his nose, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He knew Stan was thinking something too much, and he hated seeing the man like that; worried, frowning and cold.

“Can you play with my hair?”

A small smile of victory tugged at his lips as Stan started to relax beneath Bill and wrapped an arm around the small of his back as his other hand found its way in-between the man’s ginger/brown locks, gently pulling at the strands, the tip of his blunt nails dragging over his scalp. It was unusual, for Bill to act this way, _this_ openly needy. Stan still didn’t know what to make of this extremely intimate interaction of theirs. So, he just went with the flow and tried to keep his heartbeats as steady as he could whilst playing and messing up Bill’s hair, twirling a strand in between his fingers before he combed them in his hair, tugging at it gently before slowly messing it up just to fix it all over again.

As he lied there, completely still except for his hands that was both rubbing circles onto the author’s back and playing with his surprisingly soft hair, he thought about what they had between them, and what it meant to the man.

Bill’s sexual attraction towards Stan made him feel good, he loved how the author looked at him like he had hung the moon was nice. He loved the lust he saw in his eyes then, but he loved the way he had been looking at Stan all morning today more; frighteningly more. Even though he had been trying to act like it didn’t affect him at all, his heart had been clenching and aching every time the author gave him a smile, and that made Stan want more of it; want more of his attention.

But it was overwhelming, almost too much for him to handle. It was making Stan want to just pretend, to just see them differently for one day, maybe three, or maybe more.

He closed his eyes and just for a while, just for five minutes, let his mind drift away to an imaginary world where they would be doing this as something else, something more, perhaps lovers, or perhaps just two close friends. He imagined, just for a few minutes, and it was enough for his heart to start ache with a relentless longing.

That was enough for a seed of suspicion to be planted in his mind, the dusty clogs in his mind started to turn from that moment on, signalling something through the man’s head, the beginning of that fearful awakening of an emotion Stan hadn’t felt in a while, one that he couldn’t quite comprehend yet. But the man was sure of one thing: He was fucked.


	10. I’d Lie to Your Face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“Come on, Stan! Just pick one already.”

The author whined from where he was lying on his bed as he watched Stan carefully tried to choose a shirt from his closet. The man huffed and threw a dark blue one to a small pile on the floor that he had strictly instructed Bill to wash already before turning back to give Bill an over dramatic eye roll.

“Look, I haven’t been in here for a long fucking time. I don’t know which ones are clean and which ones are not.” Bill frowned and propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look of the man’s arse that was in the air as Stan kept bending down and standing back up.

“You make me sound like a-”

“Bill, we both know you don’t give a shit about doing house chores when you work on a book.” He let out a chuckle and fell back down on his back onto the mattress.

“Fair enough. But I’ll give you five more minutes. If you’re not done until then, I’ll dress you up myself.”

The author lied still on his bed and waited. But the room had gotten very quiet all of a sudden. He opened one of his eyes and looked around, only to see he was alone in the room. He called Stan’s name a few times but got no response. As he was about to get up from the bed, Stan came back in, still in Bill’s boxers that he had lent him after Stan complained about how dirty his was, and they shared a look, the author’s eyes narrowing a tad.

“That’s it, go sit down on the bed.” He commanded as he got up and pointed down. Stan opened his mouth to protest but Bill cut him off before he got a chance to speak even a word.

“Stanley, do it.”

The man didn’t say anything back and sheepishly went over to bed, sitting down on the edge of it like a scared kitten. Bill gave him a smile and turned back. He knew he had something he wanted to see on Stan desperately, but he wasn’t sure if the situation would ever occur. He grabbed the colour that he thought would fit Stan the best and placed it on the bed right beside the man for him to inspect.

Stan looked down at the shiny fabric and touched it, the smoothness he felt underneath his palm almost made him moan with satisfaction. It had a rich burgundy colour and looked to be a slim fit that made Stan wonder how he would look in it.

“Put that on while I choose the trousers.”

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly grabbed the very expensive-looking shirt and carefully put it on; even the soft silk against his skin feeling rich. He had a few silk dress shirts himself as well but this one… This even smelled rich, Stan couldn’t explain.

“Do you want something to wear over the shirt?”

Bill asked as he turned around with tailored black trousers in his hand and stopped, and just stared. The shirt was definitely tighter on him, the buttons around his chest area seemed like they were ready to give in at any given second. It was hugging his waist and shoulders just perfectly, and the author felt himself give an interested twitch at the thought of ripping that shirt right off of Stan to touch him anywhere and everywhere.

“It really doesn’t fit me, does it?”

Stan felt quite insecure under Bill’s intense gaze, his arms ached to be wrapped around his waist, and he acted for the first button to take it off. But he froze as he got taken aback by how fast the author had moved when he saw what Stan was doing, and now had his hands over the man’s on the buttons, his wide eyes staring right into Stan’s confused ones.

“You look great Stan.” He gasped out, swallowing a few times afterwards. “You look very good.”

“Really?”

The author didn’t reply to that question verbally, but he did press his body flush against Stan’s, never breaking their eye-contact. As the man felt the hardness of Bill pressed up against his own crotch, he felt his heart start to fasten with both anticipation and thrill of the situation, slightly shocked by the shamelessness of the author.

_He had done that. He had done that to Bill, and he hadn’t even meant to do that. Bill had gotten excited only because Stan had worn one of his shirts._

“Really.”

He repeated himself, verbally this time to assure him and stepped away before giving Stan the trousers, he turned away to dress himself up to take the man back home. After about fifteen minutes they were both ready to go. And those fifteen minutes included (not) accidental grinding, heated kisses, groping and an almost-required quick hand job from Stan.

Eventually they made it out of the door, Bill’s arm tightly wrapped around Stan’s waist as they walked to the author’s car. They were both smiling, their chests filled with fuzzy feelings; but Stan had a pinch of doubt in there as well, swirling around, leaving an unpleasant bitterness behind it. At the back of his head, he knew that this meant nothing. He also knew that he couldn’t afford to miscalculate everything Bill and he did and get hurt at the very end; when he would need to let the author go.

He knew where he stood, and he had no intentions of stepping those boundaries.

Forcing a chuckle when the author bowed before him as he opened the car’s door for him, his smile fell the moment he was seated. He watched as Bill walked in front of the car to get to the driver’s door with a frown. But the moment he opened the door, his smile was back, a genuine one now. Because he also knew that if he didn’t cherish what they had now, there was a chance of a domestic and content moment like this wouldn’t occur again.

So, for the rest of the ride, he tried his best not to appear stressed and chatted with Bill all the while watching him from the corner of his eyes, memorising the way he looked that moment. His hair was right in-between messy and neat, the grey stripes above his ears pronounced with the grey sweater he was wearing. He was a very handsome man, and Stan started to realise why his heart ached every time the author smiled or touched him.

He sighed and turned his head to look out of the window, completely missing whatever story the author was telling at the moment as he watched everything smoothly glide past them. It was a big world, with billions of people inhabiting it. And he had managed to come across someone as perfect as Bill. He didn’t have faith, but nowadays he did wonder if _She_ had something to do with their encounter. Even just a tad.

* * *

In no time, Stan slowly opened his eyes to realise that they were driving on the street that led to his apartment. He blinked his eyes open, confusion filling him as he looked around with a subtle frown on his face. Bill glanced at him from the corner of his eyes and chuckled at his confusion, shaking his head fondly. He looked like a toddler that had just woken up from a day long sleep.

He rubbed his fists against his eyes before yawning loudly, stretching his limbs as best as he could in the car without disturbing the author. The buttons of his shirt stretched, now actually threatening to just give in at any given second. He yawned again as he sat back down normally, looking at Bill that had a smile on his face.

“Truly graceful.” Stan yawned again. What the fuck was wrong with him? He then remembered how many times they went the previous night and groaned; though it sounded much more content than uncomfortable.

“Shut up,” he yawned again before shaking his head and blinking a few times to try and get the sleep out of his system; at least until he was back at his flat. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes, you did.” Bill chuckled again. “You’re a cute sleeper though, no need to be embarrassed about it.”

“I’m always cute.”

Stan mumbled as the author entered the car park of the apartment and parked it before he turned to face the man that was still rubbing at his eyes, and to say it was the cutest sight the author had ever seen it would’ve been an understatement. As he watched Stan, he had the sudden urge to grab the man and push him right inside his chest, to surround him always, to have the man with him all the time. It really wasn’t such a bad thought. And he did just what he desired; he gently cupped Stan’s cheek and guided him close as he leaned over, softly pressing their lips together.

If Stan managed to muster up enough courage to describe the feeling, he would’ve said it felt like a million electrical jolts making their way all around his body, surrounding him in a cocoon of affection and love. There were no tongues involved, nor did they try to deepen it. They just loved one another with their lips, slowly moving them, slotting them into where they belonged, where they fitted just perfectly.

When they pulled away, it must’ve been at least a few minutes, or a few years, Stan wasn’t sure; still he loved every second of it. But what he was sure the way the author was looking at him at the moment was something he wouldn’t mind seeing, and even waking up to, every day for the rest of his life.

The mildly prominent green ring in the intoxicatingly deep ocean was darker now, and they carried a look of wonder and something much more intimate in them, looking right into Stan’s soul, almost caressing it, trying to soothe it, protect it from his worries.

The man opened his mouth… To say what exactly? There were words on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be let out, but what were they? What did he want to say so important that he forgot how to breathe for a few moments? He didn’t know, but he was terrified. Something this intense and engaging wasn’t something Stan was familiar with; nor was he comfortable with it.

He felt exposed, vulnerable and completely see-through. And he really didn’t like that feeling, as much as he loved it, he hated it.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, making Bill tilt his head to the side with a smile tugging onto his lips. His heart started to beat fast as his hand that was still cupping his cheek slid down to his shoulder and gave him a gentle yet firm squeeze, maybe to assure him (what for?), maybe to get him back to Earth.

“We should do this more.” Stan’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he tried to subtly take deep breaths to steady his fast heartbeats.

“Do what?”

“Wake up and have breakfast like two civil people after sex. I don’t like treating you like a…” Bill furrowed his eyebrows, seeming like he was trying to pick his words carefully. “Like you’re a one night stand for me.”

Stan looked away from his expectant gaze. He really doubted he could handle another realisation for now, everything was overwhelming him right now. Bill’s hand on his shoulder, the subtle lavender scent on his skin, the closeness of them and the look on the author’s face. Everything was too much for him to handle, it was just too much.

“Y-Yeah, I guess we should.” He grimaced for the stutter before clearing his throat. “But we both know the truth, Bill. I’m just an employee to you, and what we do is completely financial, not emotional.”

The author felt his heart clench at the words Stan used. He knew it; he knew it all too well, but actually hearing it from his mouth hurt more than thinking about it. A bittersweet smile spread across his lips before he turned away from him and Stan could’ve sworn he saw the smile on his face falter into a deep frown before he quickly rolled the tips of his lips back upwards.

Stan swallowed thickly, his fingers twitching with the want to reach out and touch him, to hug him, to tell him the truth about-What? What exactly was the ‘truth’? What did Stan have to say to Bill anyway? When the arrow comes out of the bow, it does not return. The damage was already done, of course, if there was any damage done at all.

He thanked the author with a small voice and got out of the car when Bill didn’t respond. He bit down onto his lip as he carefully shut the door, his eyes on Bill’s face, a worried frown present on his own. He gave the man a pathetic little wave without looking at him and drove away, leaving Stan there standing, making him even worse about his ignorant words from before. But he also knew that this was for the better, this was way safer than being intimate with the author. He didn’t know what was going on with him, but if his heart kept doing things Stan didn’t quite appreciate whenever he was around Bill, he wasn’t sure if he could manage to survive the next year.

He eventually moved from being a human tree on the pavement and the memory of their kiss never once leaving his mind. That fucking kiss. The entire way back to his flat, his cold, empty, dark flat, he could still feel Bill’s hand on his shoulder and cheek, holding it gently and holding him close. He could still feel the kiss; he could still taste of mint on his lips.

God, he was so ridiculous and pathetic. Just when he thought he had found a way to get away from the author, he was coming right back at him even stronger, never once leaving his mind alone and Bill-free.

* * *

(Four Days Later)

“Thank you.”

The man smiled at the cabby and handed him a twenty and got out without waiting for the change. He didn’t have to worry about those things anymore, and the cabby needed it more than he did. He looked up at the house before him as he closed the door and tilted his head to salute the man as the cab drove away.

He stepped towards the metal door and rang the bell, taking two steps back afterwards. He waited for a while, his eyebrows furrowing just slightly. He rang the bell and waited again, but no-one was answering. What the fuck? Did he forget Stan was coming that day? No, he never once forgot about it…

He pressed his lips together when he remembered what the author had given to him the other day. He never would’ve once thought he would ever have to use the key, but the worry that was starting to bubble in his chest erased every doubt he had and he quickly unlocked the house, a frown on his face, and walked inside. He quickly took his shoes off and left his bag at the entrance before he hung his coat, the same frown still deep on his face. The house was silent, too silent for his liking; worry was seriously starting to pool inside his guts.

“Bill?” He took a few cautious steps inside, looking at the kitchen and the living room. They were empty. “Bill! Where are you?”

He continued to walk further inside as he chewed onto his bottom lip, his furrow deeper than before, and kept calling Bill’s name until he thought he had heard something that came from the deeper parts of the house.

Stan opened the door of the author’s room and saw the mess he had made, but the culprit wasn’t present. He sighed and left the door open as he checked the bathroom this time. It certainly wasn’t in its best condition, but it wasn’t disgusting. He checked the author’s office the last, and saw him sitting at his desk, but to his surprise, he wasn’t working. No, Bill was drinking; or, he must have been drinking.

The man grimaced, already smelling the alcohol in the air before he even set a foot into the room. The thick, heavy, musty stench flooded his nose and he had to press a palm against his mouth to prevent himself from gagging. It was an overwhelming stench with the staggering smell of strong whiskey embracing the room along with the smell of sweat, covering his whole being like an invisible, omnipresent blanket of bitterness.

He started to breathe through his mouth as he stepped inside and quickly went over to the massive windows to let some fresh air in; and to save himself from the smell. Turning back towards the author’s desk, he saw a whiskey bottle that had been drank more than half of it, an empty glass beside Bill’s head that was leant against the desk. He suddenly got worried and started to shake the man to wake him up.

_What if he had passed out? What if he had drunk too much? What if he had alcohol poisoning? What if-_

Stan’s worried thoughts got cut off when the author mumbled something under his breath and shook his torso to get the man’s hands off of himself. Well, that action had two results. One, he _did_ manage to get Stan’s hand off; two, he made the man bump his arm into the empty, heavy whiskey glass, sending it falling down from the desk. He tried to grab it before it was too late but he himself was late; since the glass fell down onto the floor, smashing into tiny pieces.

The loud crashing noise made the author jump with a string of loud curses under his breath, his half-open eyes looking around to process what had just happened. His confused frown turned into an attempted smirk when his droopy eyes found Stan’s worriedly wide eyes, one hand grabbing Stan just to hug him tightly, making the man freeze under his touch.

“H-Hey bh-bahutiful.” The author slurred, the alcohol in his breath made Stan gag as he tried to loosen his grip. But it was almost impossible, he didn’t even budge an inch. That made the man start to worry a tad about his safety, but he wasn’t quite completely alarmed yet.

“Didn’t ‘noh I had an ah-appoinh-ament wisth an‘gel toh-day.” Bill pulled the man down, making him almost fall down onto his knees, meaning he could’ve cut himself with the sharp shards. “I wouldn’aveh drunk this‘uch if I ‘new I w-wohld get luhcky.”

“You’re drunk off your ass.” Stan stated flatly as he tried to remain calm, his half-crouched down position making him hold onto the author’s shoulder with his free one.

“Uh-I don’eed to be ‘ober to’ppre-ppreci-te beh-uty.”

The man furrowed his eyebrows, trying not to blush at Bill’s words. He was drunk, for fuck’s sake! You didn’t know shit about what you said when you were drunk! He didn’t mean any of it and yet… Stan managed to find him cute like this. With his face flushed, his lips swollen for some reason, his hair messy and the increasing of his strength. The last one wasn’t cute, but it still _was_ a bonus that sent excited jolts down his spine.

He reached for Stan’s face after a while of silent staring between them and started to caress his hollow cheeks. His skin was soft, in a contrast with his semi-sharp stubble. He chuckled as Stan slightly grimaced when his breath once again surrounded the man. He knew he wouldn’t _ever_ want the man to see him in this state, completely drunk and having no control over what he blurted out. But now that he was here, Bill didn’t think it was too bad. It was pleasant even, in a weird way. Knowing he had someone to take care of him was comforting. He liked it. And he liked Stan. And before he realised it, he was moving upwards as he pulled the man down to kiss him. That’s what he wanted, and he wanted it now. He was stubborn and didn’t think about the state of his breath and how much Stan despised it.

“Bill-”

He stopped himself from saying anything more when he saw Bill wouldn’t stop, and just accepted it when their lips connected. And the moment they did, the man wanted to gasp. It wasn’t anything sloppy or disgusting like Stan would’ve thought a drunk man would be capable of giving. It was short yet still longer than a peck, and it was kind of pleasant. It was sweet and not at all made Stan feel like he was being forced into kissing, with a tint of bitter whiskey. It felt like Bill had just stroked him with his lips; he felt _loved_.

He furrowed his eyebrows as Bill kept caressing his cheek and his jaw, setting a soothing pattern between them. And the way he looked up at him… Even though the reddening of his eyes were worrying, the way it made his blue irises stand out was pretty. And his pupils… They were dilated as he stared up at Stan. They looked so in awe and- _No_.

“Could you unhand me? I need to clean the shards, so we don’t cut ourselves.”

“B-ut-”

“Bill, you already almost made me cut myself just then! This is a no-argument topic. Someone your age should take some responsibility and fucking know how dangerous it is to drink too much when you’re alone! Or drink so much at all! What are you, an overgrown baby?”

He swatted the author’s hand away from his face and managed to break free from his grasp before he walked out of the room; not forgetting to take the whiskey bottle from the desk, not minding Bill’s pleads and whines.

He placed the alcohol back on the counter where the author kept them and grabbed the small rubbish bin from the kitchen before going back the room. And the moment he entered the office, he had to bite down onto the insides of his cheeks not to laugh at the sight he saw. Bill was still sitting on the office chair, but now he had a pout on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. A sudden urge to capture this moment washed over him, and he almost went back to retrieve his mobile to capture the rare moment; but he decided against it and shook his head before he entered.

Going over to the desk, he pushed Bill (and the chair) away from the shards before once again crouching down to tidy the big pieces before he got the smaller ones. And just as he was about to start, Bill tapped his shoulder.

“’nehd mor’lcohol.” Stan gave him a flat look before rolling his eyes with a scoff.

“No, you fucking don’t.”

“Buh-But, I-”

“Bill, just shut up.” Stan turned around and glared up at the author that still had the pout on, only changed thing about his posture was that now his arms limply rested on the armrests of the leather chair.

“You’ve already had enough. And who knows what you drunk before the whiskey; it smells like a fucking barn in here! And don’t you know you could’ve gotten alcohol poisoning if you drink like an animal? I can’t believe I have to scold you like this; you should be ashamed of yourself!”

When the author didn’t reply, Stan huffed and turned around. And just as he was about to grab the first shard, Bill grabbed him once again, and this time pulled him down onto his lap. The man put up a half-hearted fight to get out of his grip, but just stopped struggling when his grasp tightened a tad more.

“You’ll ‘urt yher-self…” He breathed into Stan’s hair, making the strands on his neck stand one by one.

“And who’s fault would that be?” He scoffed, yet he let himself relax in Bill’s arms with a soft sigh. He was becoming way too tender for the author, and it scared him. He was scared that he wouldn’t be able to let him go when the time came. He was terrified of-

“’m sorrhy.” Stan felt his heart constrict at how hurt he sounded; how regretful even when he wasn’t quite himself. He ached to hug him, to tell him that it was okay. He ached to kiss him, to hold him close. To tell him the truth when he was drunk; memory loss guaranteed.

“If you’re sorry, let me go so I can clean after you.”

Stan wanted to punch himself for that reply. Bill didn’t reply, but he did let go of Stan with another mumbled, perhaps a tad stuttered apology. He didn’t intervene or speak up as Stan cleaned the shards and put them into the rubbish bin.

The only noise in the room was the clinging sounds of the glass, and their quiet breathing. That absurd silence made the man wonder if he had hurt his feelings or not; though he didn’t think he had done anything wrong. He was worried, Bill was being unreasonable, so he acted; right? What pushed him into drinking like a forty-years addict? He considered just asking, but he just shook his head and continued cleaning without a word until he was done. He got up with a small grunt as his knees popped. Was he getting that old? He was sure mid-thirties _wasn’t_ that old.

He turned around and looked down at the sheepish-looking man, a small huff of slight awe left his mouth. He had never seen Bill look so… Guilty and defeated. And Stan knew this wasn’t entirely about the broken glass or his reckless and stupid drinking. Something was lying beneath the smaller problems. He guessed it must’ve been about his job. He was half right.

“Now that it’s safe for you to move, I want you to go and take a shower. Be more presentable, please.”

“Yhe’re not’he boss o’ meh!” He almost whined, making Stan chuckle with a shake of his head. “Did you forget our roles?”

“If you behave like a baby, I’ll treat you like a baby; and that means I _will_ become the boss of you.” He nudged the author. “Come on, up you go.”

Bill shook his head and slumped down onto the chair even more, still not letting go of his stubbornness go. Stan sighed deeply, rolling his eyes at the author. He wanted to bitch about “not getting paid enough to deal with this bullshit”, but he did get paid enough for it. Perhaps even more than necessary.

He must’ve noticed Stan’s irritation and helplessness even in that state since the author gave the man a crooked smile, a burp following that made Stan wrinkle his nose at, and got up from the chair; wobbling on his feet until Stan steadied him with narrow eyes.

“’ll take’show-her if you come wifth’e.”

“To watch you shower? I’m sure you can’t possibly drown while-” Bill shook his head and grabbed Stan’s hand, caressing his knuckles with a smile.

“’ant you to take’ne witsh me.”

“Excuse me?”

Bill gave him another crooked smile and started to drag Stan out of the room. The man couldn’t find his balance because of the sudden and abrupt way the author grabbed him and dropped the rubbish bin he was carrying in the process of trying not to fall. The frustrated groan that threatened to leave his mouth got stuffed back inside when Bill wobbled, and he had to support him until they reached the bathroom.

He let go of Bill once they reached their destination and flicked the lights on. Seeing the messy state of the rather nice decorated bathroom again refuelled his irritation with Bill, but the man bit down onto his tongue, not letting even one word slip out. He had learnt that his lectures meant absolutely nothing when the author wasn’t functioning. He would be just wasting his breath, and he definitely didn’t need that happening now.

He slowly guided Bill towards the toilet and closed the lid before helping him sit down onto it. He motioned him to raise his arms, making Bill laugh up at his irritated frown while his arms were still in the air to demonstrate (Stan had to guide Bill’s arms up after that). At least thanks to Bill managing to keep his arms up in the air, a bit shaky, but still going, he successfully removed his stained white t-shirt before moving on to undoing his sweatpants. And shocker, they were stained as well; and if Stan’s nose wasn’t broken, they smelled a tad as well. He looked up at the author’s flushed face with a furrow. He was seriously getting worried about him.

With an innocent tapping of his fingers on Bill’s hips, he removed the last article of clothing he had on. And to say it was a surprising experience to come face to face with the author’s semi-hard member would be an understatement. He looked up at Bill’s face with one eyebrow raised, earning a shameless chuckle as he attempted a wink. Stan shook his head with a sigh as he started to take his own clothes off, as fast as possible to he wouldn’t accidentally give the impression of a greater intentions behind his actions. After the fright of their first time together and their state when they were doing it still filled the man’s head doubts about drunk sex. And he didn’t think it was irrational; not at all.

He quickly folded his clothes and turned back to Bill who was currently lazily stroking himself with a face full of bliss as his eyes roamed all over Stan’s body. The man could hardly hold back an eye-roll at that. He was already regretting agreeing to accompany the author in the shower; what the _fuck_ was he thinking?

“Yo’ff b-beautiful.”

Bill spoke up as he tried to lift himself up from on top of the toilet. Stan sighed with a small smile as he walked towards him and grabbed one of his hands to pull him up to his feet safely. The moment he was sure Bill could stand on his own, he let go of him and turned around to turn the diverter valve on, holding his hand underneath the shower head to wait for the water turn warm enough to shower.

“And you’re drunk. _Still_.” His late-came answer got a muffled hum from the author as he stepped closer to Stan and pressed himself up against him, his hands finding their places on either side of his hips.

“Bill-”

“I wunth y-you.”

Stan turned around and almost bumped his nose into Bill’s. He tried to step away from him, but the hands on his hips prevented him from making room between them. He tried not to focus on the hardness that was pressed up against his own member to prevent himself from getting into it, but it was very hard given the circumstances; since Bill’s hands didn’t stay stationary, they started to feel around his body.

It made Stan shiver, the semi-cold touch of his hands that trailed up his sides before they dragged back down along his sides and his shoulders, then up to the sides of his neck. They lingered there for a moment before going back down along his back and stopped at the arch of it. The man swallowed thickly as Bill shifted his hands once again, and rested his palms on his hipbones, his fingertips slightly digging into his skin.

“Bill, I-”

“Shh.”

Bill pressed his lips against Stan’s jaw, right underneath his right ear as one of his hands wrapped around his semi-excited member that stood in the middle of half-hard and soft. The man let out a broken moan as the grasp Bill had on him tightened a tad before tugging at him. His knees buckled when the author touched a particularly sensitive area just beneath his head and he quickly wrapped his arms around his neck to pull him closer.

The panting against his neck was driving him insane, as well as Bill’s hand that was wrapped around him with lazy pumps every now and then, and his other hand that caressed everywhere it could reach. His hips, his thighs, the small of his back and his jaw. He wasn’t sure how they had become like this, this comfortable around one another; this hungry for touching. But he knew he couldn’t complain. He enjoyed this as much as Bill did.

So, with the help of his arms that were still wrapped around the author’s neck, he pulled him along as he stepped backwards until his back collided with the damp, lukewarm tiled-wall of the shower.

A soft moan of ecstasy left his mouth as warm water started to rain down on them, dampening their hair and crept between their hands and bodies, running along where they were connected. Stan wasn’t sure if he liked that. He wanted Bill to be closer, impossibly closer, he wanted to feel everything. He was scared of falling deeper into this hole that he and the author had created, but for now everything was filled with the thoughts of Bill. Just, _Bill, Bill, Bill_.

Stan felt intoxicated, yet so alive and aware when the author’s lips finally covered his own; a gasp of desperate need leaving their mouths. They kissed as their hands roamed, not trying to accomplish anything for now, just trailing, only feeling. They loved how the warm skin beneath their palms and fingers felt, how intimate and close they were. They loved it. They knew they loved it.

“I want you.” Stan spoke into Bill’s open mouth before he bit down onto his bottom lip, his one hand in between his wet locks tugging at the strands it had wrapped between his fingers. He loved the way the author gasped into his neck with parted lips, ready to lick, or bite or kiss.

“Stan…”

The man loved the way he could hear the hitch in Bill’s voice as he kissed along his jaw, and up to his ear before taking his earlobe between his teeth, lightly tugging at it. The author must’ve remembered he had Stan in his hands, so when he started to pump him in a steady, slow way, his knees did give away this time.

A broken moan fell from his mouth as he pulled back and started to feel along Bill’s back all the while looking into his eyes. His pupils were still dilated, with a ring of dark azure surrounding it. It was darkened with lust, not completely overcome with it yet, since it carried a pinch of love. Or something like that.

His lips got attached to Stan’s neck, where they fit so perfectly, as his free hand slowly trailed down until it was between the man’s legs, perhaps a tad hesitant. Expert fingers knead the flesh of his cheeks, the tips slowly but surely getting to where Stan wanted them. And the moment they trace over his rim, he moaned into Bill’s ear with an involuntary thrust of his hips. He heard the author chuckle into his hair as he slowly pushed one digit inside, a wet, warm feeling soon tracing along his jawline until they were sharing an open-mouthed kiss, their teeth clashing together. The slight pain of him entering Stan without lubricant made him gasp as the author started to grind against him, his finger inside slowly pumping in and out of him.

It was tight, and extremely warm inside, just like how Bill wanted it to be. He crooked his finger to drag the tip of it along his walls that always had Stan a moaning mess. He loved the noises he made as he worked him open gently, loved the way his fingernails threatened to break his skin with the pressure Stan put on them, loved the way he could swallow his gasps with their lips lingering so close to one another.

He circled Stan’s rim once more before he pushed another finger inside. The stretch of it without lube was more painful, the man realised. The burning sensation he felt inside of him clashed together with the bliss of having something inside there, making him grind his teeth not to moan out loud.

His one hand fell down from in-between Bill’s soaked hair and traced along his spine before stopping in the dimples of his lower back as the author started to scissor his fingers inside of him, slowly but surely preparing him for what they wanted for so long (it hadn’t actually been that long, but they craved one another; as if they were addicted).

The author was taking his sweet time. He was dragging his fingers along his walls, slowly scissoring them before burying them deep inside, just to pull them back out to tease his rim. Stan just wanted to push Bill away at this point, to push him down onto his back and take what he wanted from him. But the pleasure from his teasing was euphoric, and the praises and compliments he had been whispering into his skin as he kissed Stan like he was a piece of artwork he couldn’t get enough of. He loved how gentle and loving he was being as he kissed and licked at him, he loved how thorough he was being with stretching him, and how he didn’t forget to distract him by pumping him a few timed every now and then. But he was getting impatient. It had been a while since Bill managed to slip his third finger inside, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle being sweetly abused from his prostate, he wanted Bill.

He tried to push him away to turn around, but the author didn’t let him. Stan wanted to cry out with frustration as Bill paced up the thrusts of his fingers inside, the tips of them dragging and digging into his prostate at a speed where he wanted to scream and cry out loud in utter pleasure.

“B-Bill! Ehn-ugh!” He gasped out loud, finally making Bill stop the motions of his hands into lazy pumps. “Let me turn around so you can fuck me. Please!”

“Oh, baby, I w-wuh-want to see you.”

He grabbed Stan and slowly and carefully hoisted him up against the wall with his arms holding him up. The man quickly pressed one palm against the corner of the wall and turned the water off with his foot before wrapping his legs around Bill’s waist, spreading them to give a good view to the author. And the moment he felt the tip of him slowly press against himself, he felt like he was about to come right then and there.

The lips that were attached to his neck and his breath on his skin made jolts and jolts of pleasure all through his body as his fingertips dug into his hips. With Bill’s tip teasing him for a moment longer before slowly pushing inside, he felt himself twitch with thrilled anticipation for the familiar pressure. The burning stretch of being entered made Stan groan as his hand tightened the grip he had in the author’s hair.

With every shallow thrust, Bill buried himself deeper in that tight heat, almost losing himself in the feeling of it. He adjusted his posture and bottomed out with a final thrust of his hips, making Stan gasp out a loud moan was his fingertips dug into his scalp. They groaned into one another’s mouths as Bill started to move in and out slowly, soon pacing up with the sinful gasps and sobs he was fucking out of Stan.

He placed one hand underneath the man’s chin and tilted his head down, taking in his red face and parted lips that produced beautiful moans and gasps like an orchestra or a melody only Bill was allowed to savour and cherish. Stan was beautiful, with his hair sticking to his forehead and sweat drops that mixed in-between the water droplets there, his eyebrows furrowed with the pleasure he was feeling deep inside.

He loved the way Bill dragged along his walls and stretched him open, digging deep inside of him until he found his prostate. And after that, Stan was a screaming mess. He was chanting Bill’s name, and only Bill’s name. He loved it; even the drunk and dizzy state of his mind, he could still feel the string feeling of possession burning inside of him when he saw Stan like this, moaning and panting because of him. And no-one else.

“Y-You’re be-uhtiful.” He managed to slur out as his legs start to tremble, the pace of his thrusts becoming more and more unforgiving as he drove right inside Stan.

The man gasped and moaned on top of Bill, feeling himself get close as well. He could feel the heat of his pleasure point start to pool up inside his abdomen, the way every time Bill dug into his prostate, he felt shock waves of unbearable pleasure coursing through him. The pressure of everything was delicious, it was inside of him, around him, surrounding him. It was Bill, Bill, Bill everywhere, and he knew he wouldn’t have it otherwise.

His thighs begin to tremble as Bill paced up even more, almost intending to fuck him into the wall as they both moaned together, each other’s names pouring out of their mouths like prayers being chanted in a dark day. But this day was anything but dark; it was pleasing, satisfying, and ecstatic. He grinded against him, pushing back into Bill, meeting with his thrusts as best as he could. But the pressure in his abdomen was increasing with every thrust until he couldn’t hold it in anymore; and he came with a scream of Bill’s name. With him clenched deliciously around the author and the way he clung onto him as he rode his high did it for Bill as it took only a few more sharp thrusts until he was coming inside Stan. His thighs trembled at the same time with Stan’s as they panted into one another’s mouths, their foreheads pressed together.

The author slowly lowered Stan down onto his feet and they embraced each other, Bill’s face pushed into the crook of the man’s neck as Stan’s nose was pressed into his wet hair, their bodies completely pressed together, almost close enough for them to become one.

He grimaced slightly as he felt Bill leak out of his throbbing hole, the warm, stick liquid running down from the insides of his thighs. He just wanted to clean himself now; but he had no intentions of letting Bill go.

* * *

After an hour of showering (and perhaps a second round), Stan wrapped his arms around the sleepy-looking man with a fond smile. Bill turned to him with a weird look on his face and started to trace the frame of his face with his index finger as they carefully walked to the author’s bedroom.

“You have a p-pretty face.” Stan huffed out a small laugh and shook his head as he opened the door.

“Thank you.”

He guided the author inside and laid him down onto the bed to cover him up. After he was sure Bill was covered enough, he pressed his lips against his forehead, both to kiss him and to determine if he had fever or not. He was kind of worried about his condition yet seeing his stamina did comfort him a tad.

He patted his chest and just as he was about to get up to do some tidying around the house, Bill grabbed his wrist and pulled the man on top of him. Stan furrowed his eyebrows before the author leaned up and kissed him. A surprised but definitely not displeased hum made its way out of Stan’s mouth before the man acted to kiss back, but he stopped and opened his eyes as Bill kept kissing him. It felt different from the many others that they had shared. It held an element of hesitation; it was unhurried, and it consisted of gentle pecks of soft pursed lips. It made Stan feel like he was sailing in an ocean of affection and euphoria.

“Does this mean anything to you?” He whispered against Stan’s parted lips.

“What-”

“Are we just huh-having sex? Or is it more t-than p-phi-psychical contact for you?”

Stan froze completely, his eyes wide, his heart beating fast like he had ran a marathon a second ago. He avoided Bill’s expectant yet droopy eyes, and by the time he managed to find the courage to look back at him, he saw that the author was long gone, soft snores breaking the silence in the room.

They were in complete contrast then, one sleeping, the other wide awake. One relaxed and limp, the other frozen and stiff. He wasn’t expecting that kind of a question from Bill, and he knew that the man was still a tad off from all that alcohol in his system; but still…

He quickly but quietly got off him and slumped down onto the floor right beside the bed, his eyes still as wide as before. He placed his hand over his heart and tried to calm his heartbeats before he looked up at Bill’s sleeping face.

“No, it doesn’t.”

He lied. He lied to nobody, there was no-one to listen to him as his voice broke and cracked under the overwhelming feeling he felt.


	11. Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

(Three Days Later)

“Enjoy your coffee!”

He waved after the last customer of the day, and the moment the bell on top of the glass door rang, the forced smile that had been tugged on his lips for the past hour dropped. He was feeling extremely tired. The thought of his memory foam bed and the series he had abandoned a while ago entered his mind as he walked to the door to turn the sign. One time he was late to an appointment because he had forgotten to turn the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’. He wanted to leave the moment they entered, but he also knew he couldn’t just shoo the poor couple out the café since it was _his_ fault.

He thought about making himself a cuppa coffee as he turned back, inspecting the place to see if he needed to do any extra cleaning around. Even though his co-worker had done a fairly thorough job, and everything seemed clean enough, he just decided to make himself some coffee as he did a tad tidying here and there. And without him realising it, ten minutes had passed.

The smell of freshly filtered coffee filled his nostrils as he finally let go of the dusting cloth he had been using, and he stretched. Walking to the backroom as he untied his apron, he placed it back into his locker. He then walked back to the main area with a small smile on his face and went to wash the French Press after pouring the coffee into one of the middle-sized takeaway cups.

He checked around once again, did a visual inspection of all areas including the restrooms, the stockroom and the big closet where they kept the cleaning products in, which was attached to the stockroom. There was no-one inside, just as Stan expected, nor were they running low on any products. Good, Stan didn’t feel like dealing with any problems that evening.

Lastly, he straightened up and reorganised their display shelves, placing the misplaced items into their right places. He had already counted the cash and closed the drawers where they held them. Realising he didn’t have anything more to do there, he let out a long sigh of relief and grabbed his coffee before he exited the café, the semi-chilly evening weather gently hitting him in the face.

He shut the shutters with a slight grimace because of the besetting noise they had created and sealed the door’s lock. He then sat down on one of the chairs they still kept in front of the café and took out his packet, wanting to have his long-earned coffee/cigarette break. He stayed there until his coffee was finished, then carried himself off the chair to finally get home and relax a tad.

Just as he had taken his first step to cross the road, he saw the car that was speeding up towards him from the corner of his eyes. Stan hesitated for a moment and managed to take only one step onto the road when the car came closer until it came to a screeching halt right before him. He took a few steps back with a deep scowl, trying not to show his fright, more than ready to shout some fucking sense into the moron’s head. But the moment the driver’s window rolled down; his shoulder slumped down with mixed feelings.

His surprised state first turned to happiness, then to anger once again and he began to scold his friend as the comedian laughed and took everything the man spat his way. Well, what _else_ was he going to do? He had deserved some good old scolding from him, and it surely was a break from his husband’s usual.

“O-Okay, Stan the Man!” He laughed as the man finally released his collar, giving him the time to adjust it just slightly before he leaned back onto the seat to support his back. “I think now I know not to drive like a maniac and scare you.”

“You better not, asshole.” He scoffed with a shake of his head before he looked around the car with a raised eyebrow. “Wait, where’s Eddie?”

“Oh, he’s not here. I came to kidnap you.”

“Okay.”

* * *

The car ride was surprisingly short, it didn’t even feel like it had been ten minutes since they have left the café. But checking the time proved him wrong, they had been driving for thirty minutes. Richie pulled up into the car park and they got out of the car. He looked around for a moment before the restaurant itself caught his attention. The building was white, with a couple well-decorated pillars surrounding it. It had an impressively massive revolving door, and Stan could already tell the type of people crowded it.

“Any reason you chose a Mediterranean?”

Stan asked when he saw the restaurant’s beautifully written sign. It was a pretty golden colour that flickered differently depending on where you looked at it. Richie just shrugged and guided Stan into the restaurant, and upon setting a foot inside, the man could tell he wasn’t wrong about his prejudgement about its customers.

They were all dressed accordingly, Stan guessed, they looked like they belonged there. Like the restaurant itself was a film set, or a painting, and the people in dresses and suits were the each individual brush strokes that brought it to life. The man didn’t remember feeling more out of place, but with the comedian by his side, with his bright coloured Hawaiian shirt and mismatched socks showing from underneath his cuffed trousers, he felt more at ease. At least he didn’t look as stupid as he did; or so he tried to convince himself.

As they progressed further inside the restaurant, Stan began to look around, perhaps to find their reserved (?) table, perhaps just to avoid feeling even more stressed than he already was. But all his stress and awkwardness seemed to dissolve into thin air the moment his eyes spotted a vibrant red amongst all the whites and royal blues around.

“Is that Bev?”

He turned towards Richie, and seeing his wide grin was enough to believe, yes, he had seen his friend sitting there. And as they got closer, he could see someone else sitting beside her at the table. He thought it was Ben at first, but he soon realised he was wrong. It was Eddie that had been keeping her company as they awaited their arrival. A soft smile tugged at the tips of his lips. But he tried to wipe that smile as he shook his head with a soft scoff before making eye-contact with both of his friends, one after another, he turned to Richie and rolled his eyes up at him.

“I thought you were only kidnapping me?” Beverly must’ve heard his question, since she smiled up at the both men that were standing before the round table now. She then turned and grabbed Eddie’s arm, patting the man’s shoulder a few times.

“Who said Rich was the only culprit?” Richie nodded with a fond glint in his eyes as he stared down at his husband trying to pull off Beverly’s tentacle-like grasp on his arm.

“And now you know why we chose Mediterranean.”

Stan didn’t reply as he smiled down at Beverly, next at Eddie who was successful at his attempts, then up at Richie with a rather fond sigh before he took his seat as a waiter approached them with four menus in his hands. And since the ordering of the two friends didn’t last too long, Stan guessed they had been here before, and he’s left with deciding with Richie who couldn’t decide between sweet beef and a chicken dish. He finally went for the lemon herb chicken with the influence of his husband as Stan orders a chickpea salad with goat cheese.

As they waited for their food, they began to talk about everything and anything. Stan was afraid of the possible bombardment of questions about Bill, but none came. They talked about whatever came to their minds, and to say the man was enjoying himself definitely would’ve been an understatement. It sure was a nice change from his normal routine. He didn’t remember _really_ laughing in a long time, and all the monotonous stress of work and personal life he felt was slowly vanishing. He had missed hanging out with his friends like this, being this carefree and happy. It was surely a needed change, and he was very grateful for Richie for being the main provider of it.

They had a great meal accompanied by a deliciously sweet and just as light Merlot and casual small talks they found themselves bringing up over and over again, and even some memories that embarrassed one while making the others laugh like a couple of hyenas. And even though Richie had been the entertainer most of the dinner; Beverly wasn’t holding back on stealing his spotlight every now and then with her almost-unbelievably stupid stories about him as a teenager.

They imitated the people in their stories, changed their voices and they even changed their jackets to keep the show as live as possible. Eddie and he did most of the laughing that night, and Stan could tell both him and his best friend had needed this kind of change. A permanent smile was plastered onto his face as he watched his husband make a fool of himself; but clearly having fun doing so. Stan had always admired that part of him, being able to make fun of himself while being funny and relatable about it.

They ordered three different desserts and shared them with quiet snorts as Richie continued to entertain his friends. They had calmed down compared to the beginning of the evening, but they were still going strong. But when the desserts were finished, they quieted down fully as well. A wave of sadness crashed onto him the moment they were to pay the bills. He knew he could see his friends any time he wanted, but it _had_ been a while since they were able to sit down and laugh their stress of for a whole few hours; their jobs and all getting in the way.

Still, he tried not to express his disappointment, and he bid his goodbyes before walking away from them. The ghost of his wide smile from before was still present, still lingering on his lips as a reminder that, yes, Stan needed to smile every now and then as well. And the man was more than grateful for being reminded of that fact.

He stopped by the side of the restaurant and grabbed a cigarette from his half-empty packet. And by the time he had taken his first drag from it, someone cleared his throat beside him. Stan flinched and snapped his neck towards the noise, and saw Richie fixing his coat as he stepped towards the man.

“Hey,” Stan furrowed his eyebrows. “I thought you already left?” The comedian shrugged and stepped closer to lean against the wall as well, mirroring his friend.

“Spaghetti is bringing Bev home.”

“You could’ve gone with them, Rich.” Stan offered his cigarette, and Richie took it without a second thought, taking a long drag from it. “I think you stayed for a reason.”

“You’re sexy enough to make a married man squeal, Stan the Man. What can I say?”

The man furrowed his eyebrows before pushing himself away from the wall to look his friend in the eyes. The comedian carried his signature grin, but something was wrong with the way he looked back at Stan. He refused when Richie tried to give the cigarette back and crossed his arms.

“Richie-”

“But all jokes aside, I’m worried about you, Stan.” The man was surprised enough to remain silent for a few moments, all the while Richie searched Stan’s face with a slight frown that he wouldn’t own if he wasn’t anywhere serious.

“What for?”

“How’s Denbrough? As a person? As a partner?”

Stan narrowed his eyes before taking a few steps away from where they were standing, he started to look around for the familiar black SUV. But after a few moments of Richie silently smoking as the man kept searching, Stan gave up and took out another cigarette and lit it up with the comedian’s near-ending cigarette. As they started to share the second one, the man was waiting for his friend to speak up first, but he also knew that Richie wanted him to open up by himself. Not because someone had told him to. So, the man started to speak after a deep sigh.

“Well, for starters, he’s a good man. He’s quite easy to talk to and he never makes you feel awkward around him.” Stan shrugged before he passed the cigarette to Richie. “I really don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I don’t know either.” Richie admitted with a small but genuine chuckle. “I mean, I have seen him around a few times, even talked to him here and there. But I never actually got to talk to him if you know what I mean. I would like to know more about my friend’s lo-employer.”

Stan narrowed his eyes at his friend’s hesitation, but he shrugged it off and leaned back on the wall, throwing a foot over the other one.

“Well, he’s sweet. I mean, he is respectful, compassionate and understanding. He is very intelligent, and I know that I can depend on him. He’s ambitious, and he thinks he’s a responsible adult but all he is a toddler in need when he has a deadline before him. I admire his ability to charm people and his humility. So, I would say he’s a pretty decent man.” Stan sighed before stealing a glance up at the comedian’s face.

“Oh, and, say hi to Eddie for me.” Richie rolled his eyes and looked down at his friend who was now busy putting the finished cigarette out.

“Stan, I really am _not_ here to play the spy. You know I couldn’t give two fucks about who you fuck or love. I don’t need Eddie’s word to feel worried a-”

“Wait, what?” He finally turned to face the comedian and cocked an eyebrow at him, his eyes as wide as two spheres. “What did you say?”

“For fuck’s sake… Yes, asshole. I _am_ capable of worrying a-”

“Richie, what did you mean by ‘love’?” Richie stopped and just stared down at the man with slightly wide eyes, trying to decide if he was being serious with his question or not. And by the way he looked, he _was_.

“Oh.”

“ _‘Oh’_? What do you mean _‘Oh’_?”

Stan thought that was meant for him judging out loud the part he had taken to his attention. But he was right as much as he was wrong. Richie’s ‘oh’ sound was reflecting his genuine surprise. It was meant to imply ‘ _Oh, you don’t know what you look like when you talk about him._ ’ It was amusing, but the comedian knew Stan waited a solid answer from him.

“You… You really don’t know do you?”

Stan narrowed his eyes even more, taking a step closer to Richie with crossed arms. It was painfully obvious he was stressed; it was written all over his body language. His clenched jaw, the way he tried his hardest to keep their eye-contact, and the distance between his legs.

“Stan, it sounds like you’re in love. Well, not _sounds like_ , but it looks like. Or both.” Stan’s shoulders slumped down as he let his arms fall limply to his sides before he wrapped them around his torso, seeming like he was trying to appear as small as possible.

“How so?” ‘ _You already know it, don’t you?_ ’ Richie thought, shaking his head with a worried frown. ‘ _You just don’t want it to be true._ ’

“The way you… You looked. You should’ve seen your face Stan, it’s not something I can describe.” A sigh escaped his lips that were tightly pressed together just a second ago. “You looked lovestruck, _in love_.”

“How do I make them go away before I get indulged in them?” Stan asked, his voice stern, his jaw clenched once again. Richie didn’t want to give advice on how to _not_ love someone but… He didn’t want his friend to get hurt in the end either.

“Stay away from him.” An involuntary sigh escaped his slightly-trembling lips.

“Richie-”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying to stop going over there. Just… Try to distance yourself if you don’t want to love him, I guess.”

Richie shook his head with a sigh before he hugged his friend. The man’s stiff posture melted away the moment he hugged his friend back, and they stayed like that until they heard the familiar honk of a car, soon seeing it approach them. Stan bid farewell to the comedian and waved his hand at his friend who was doing the same. And as Stan watched them drive away, he had a billion questions running round and round in his mind, without any answers. He was feeling multiple things at the same time, some of them in great contrast, and they kept crashing into one another as if to lessen the amount. But that didn’t work, he just kept on overthinking and worrying himself until he got startled by the ringing of his phone. His eyes widened at the caller ID and he looked around for a moment before he finally picked it up.

“H-Hello?”

“Hey, Stan. I need you to come over now.” The man’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion as he pulled his mobile away from his ear and checked the time. By the time he placed it back against his ear, Bill was calling his name.

“Are you aware of the time?”

“You came by at three am. Twice.” The author stated as a matter of fact, making Stan sigh deeply. ‘ _Just when I decide to distance myself from you, you pull me right back in._ ’

“I can’t come.” He heard the frustrated groan coming from the other side.

“Stan, I really need you here. You have to come.” When the man kept his silence, another groan was heard. “I’ll even pay you for this, just-” Stan clenched his teeth at nobody, glaring sideways down at his phone.

“I can’t come because I’m not at my flat! Not everything is about fucking money, Bill!”

“I’m sorry about that, I was insensitive. But that’s not an excuse. Where are you?”

“Bill-”

“Where are you, Stanley?”

And after fifteen minutes at most, Stan was being picked up by a stressed-looking Bill and they drove away. The man studied his profile without fully facing him, trying to telepathically read his mind and what they were doing this late; it was almost eleven pm! He tried to stay quiet and wait for the author to tell him, but his curiosity was getting the best of him after a few minutes of pure silence.

“What the fuck is going on?” He didn’t mean to be that blunt about it, but he was irritated, and his fatigue from before was increasing by each passing minute, decreasing his tolerance as a result.

“One of my friends just told me they were throwing a party for me.”

“Why?”

“The award, Stan. For the award.”

“Oh.” Stan tilted his head with a roll of his eyes. “So, what does that have to do with me?”

Bill turned to him with a wide grin, making their first eye-contact of the night. It continued for a few moments before Stan cleared his throat and pointed back at the road with his chin. The author’s grin widened before he turned back and let his stiff posture relax a tad.

“You’re my plus-one, obviously.” Stan swallowed thickly, trying not to think over the general meaning of ‘plus-one’.

“D-Do I even get a saying in that?” The tips of Bill’s lips twitched upwards and stayed there until they arrived at the author’s house.

“Nope.”

* * *

“There’s something that doesn’t make sense to me.” Stan said as he carefully climbed out of the car and slowly shut the door since he felt dizzy; not enough to make him uncomfortable, but still enough to force him into being careful about his steps.

“Why did you insist on picking me up at fucking eleven?”

“I’m stressed. I needed someone.” That made the man smile as Bill walked around the car to offer him an arm to hold on to. He took it without a second thought, and they started to walk towards the house. Stan spoke up again as they were taking their shoes off.

“Okay, how about we watch something to calm you down?” The author’s smile widened before he grabbed Stan by the shoulders and spun him around for them to face one another once again, preventing the man from proceeding inside to wash his hands.

“Will you cook something?” Stan rolled his eyes as he shook Bill’s hands off his shoulders.

“Bill it’s-”

“Eleven, I know. But please?” The author tried to pout sweetly, immediately reminding Stan of his drunken state, and his pout back then. He must’ve thought the smile on his face was because of his pout from now, and he spoke up once again, pressing his hands together as if he were begging.

“I haven’t eaten anything today. I’m very hungry.”

His presumably ‘helpless’ state from a second ago was gone as he eyed Stan with a slight smirk; already knowing he had won him over. The man rolled his eyes, admitting his defeat, and decided to go for a simple dish. He would be making pasta.

He instructed Bill to get the utensils he needed out as he finally found the chance to get cleaned up and remove his extra layers of clothing. By the time he was back in the kitchen, Bill was waiting for him with a smile, he had even poured water in the pot. As he waited for the water to boil, he took out the spices and tomato sauce he would be needing with Bill following on his tail. That wasn’t as irritating at first, since he only had to fry the ground beef first. But as the water boiled and he put the pasta in it, things got complicated. He was trying to keep both the pot and the skillet under control all the while constantly having to shoo the author away because of the way he was sticking close to the cooking sauce like a stray cat in a butcher. It had been funny the first time he tried eating from the cooking ground beef, but by the time it happened for the fifth time, he was getting very agitated.

“Bill, I swear to god, if you try to touch my Bolognese sauce again, I’ll cut your head off.” Bill just smirked, completely unfazed by the man’s irritated tone and took a step closer to Stan.

“Which one?” Stan spared an uninterested look towards his way before he suddenly cupped him tightly, tugging at him afterwards.

“This one.”

His voice and face were as flat as they could’ve possibly been to prevent his breaking façade from being seen. Bill chuckled as he couldn’t get his brain to function, his voice sounding a tad strained. Stan turned back around and once again began to stir the sauce. Bill shook his head to shrug off the shock of Stan’s surprising move before hugging the man from behind, grabbing his hips. He rested his chin on the man’s left shoulder as he felt him stiffen up under his touch, but he paid no mind with the scent of the tomato and ground beef cooking in the pan, expertly seasoned with divine spices.

“Is that a threat or a promise, Uris?”

“I’ll make sure it is indeed a threat you will avoid, Denbrough.” He spat, trying to wrench his hands off his hips, giving up with the tightening of the fingertips, feeling them dig into his flesh.

“Fierce,” Bill whispered against Stan’s ear after the man finally stopped trying to fight him off, making the sensitive skin on his neck crawl with both arousal and slight fear. “ _That, I like._ ”

Stan tried to shrug him off once again, feeling Bill’s grip on the man increase; to the point it was starting to hurt. The man scoffed and finally gave his attention to Bill, and the author took that as an opportunity. He pressed himself against Stan and slightly grinded against him as his one hand started to snake its way towards the pasta, which was sitting in a bowl, waiting to be complete with the spiciness of the sauce. What he didn’t see coming was the hot wooden spoon that smacked against the back of his hand harshly, preventing him from achieving his goal.

Bill yelped in pain as he jumped away from Stan, his eyes wide as though he couldn’t believe what the man had just done, his eyes darting between the throbbing part of his hand and Stan. But the shock of it wore out rather quickly, and he placed a smirk on his face before he leaned down to lick the sauce off his hand, all the while looking up at Stan from beneath his eyelashes.

No matter how hard the man tried not to think about anything else whilst he cooked, he couldn’t help the images of Bill sucking him off as the author kept on giving him suggestive looks as he licked his hand clean. And he knew if he didn’t concentrate on nothing but the sauce now, he would most definitely end up underneath Bill on the bed; not that he would complain about that once. But knowing he couldn’t afford that for now, he turned around once again, both trying to hide his arousal and to look unfazed.

“Fuck off, Bill. You’re distracting me.” Bill smirked, as he knew he had already won Stan over.

“Distracting you how, Stanley?” The man sighed deeply as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, still refusing to look back at Bill.

“I’ll beat you up with this spoon if you won’t go away, you brat.” Bill blinked a few times before falling into a short laughter fit.

“I’m older than you!” Stan turned around and threw his hands up into the air, irritated to the levels he didn’t know possible.

“Then act like it and fuck off!”

Oh, well, he was wrong. And he knew he was seriously pushing his luck at this point. He smiled and cupped Stan’s face before giving him a chaste kiss, apologising afterwards. Stan blinked a few times before a hint of pink covered his cheeks. He quickly turned around to escape the author’s gaze and grabbed a plate, starting to put some pasta on it.

“I have Lambrusco, Belgian and Italian. Which one do you prefer with the pasta?” Stan paused for a moment since he wasn’t expecting that question, then continued to spread the sauce on the pasta before he turned back and handed the plate to the awaiting author.

“I already ate, Bill. When you _demanded_ that I came, I was about to head home after a dinner event.”

“Oh.” Bill offered him an apologetic smile as he accepted the plate sheepishly. “Now I feel like an asshole.”

“And you should.”

Stan smiled and walked towards the living room to turn the telly on. He then turned back around just in time to catch Bill taking his first bite from the pasta. The moment he started to chew it, his eyelashes fluttered closed with bliss, a moan escaping his lips. The man took a deep breath to calm himself down and took his seat. Bill soon came to join and leaned against Stan’s side.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to feel some warmth, I’m stressed, remember?”

“You seemed perfectly fine to me just then.”

Stan spat between gritted teeth, sounding a tad enraged, and yet he made no further complaints. Bill just smiled at his grumpy mumbling, not intending on replying, and leaned even closer to him, placing his head on the man’s shoulder. A sigh escaped Stan’s lips before he placed his arm over his shoulders and started to run his palm up and down along Bill’s upper arm, rubbing shapes onto it all the while he tried to focus on what was happening on the screen.

When the episode was over, Stan turned his head to ask if Bill wanted to watch the next one, but his words got stuck on the tip of his tongue when he realised the author was asleep. His hair had fallen over his eyes, his were lips parted slightly opening and closing with each silent breath he took. His face was relaxed, not a trace of tiredness or stress decorating his features. He looked peaceful. Stan couldn’t bring himself to wake him up to tell him to go to bed. And… This could’ve been his last chance to be this close to him without having to distance himself from the author. This fact pained him, yet he knew if he didn’t do that, he would get seriously hurt at the end of this year.

So, he gently pulled the author’s head from his shoulder and carefully brought it down onto his lap, making sure that he was in a comfortable sleeping position and wouldn’t have any cramps or soreness in his back or neck in the morning. And after making sure he hadn’t woken up, he started to threat his fingers between his hair, admiring how well the grey strands blended in with ginger.

“This is getting dangerous, you know?” He asked, of course without waiting an answer from the sleeping author. “I need to… I need to get away. But, I-I don’t know how to do it. I don’t want to do it…” He sighed, drawing his hand back and rubbed his face both to get himself together, and to find a distraction away from the author’s sleeping form.

“What do I do, Bill? What are you doing to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another filler chapter that I needed in order to match the noble purpose of the story. Needless to say, the very beginning of the calm before the storm. I suppose there will be one more filler-like chapter after this one, then the story will be tied together. Since I already know what I want to do for the ending, and the main subjects that will perform as the steps to get there, I just need to fill in the blanks.  
> Thank you for reading!


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